Future Imperfect
by loobeyloo
Summary: Stringfellow Hawke wakes to find that life is not exactly as he remembers it, finding himself in hospital, apparently having been in a coma for several months,that he has a pretty young wife,three beautiful children, and that his name is Santini not Hawke
1. Chapter 1

_FUTURE IMPERFECT is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

This story is purely a figment of my imagination, and apart from the usual ensemble of characters, borrowed for the occasion from Mr Bellisario and company, any and all resemblance to any real person or place is purely coincidental, accidental and downright bad luck on my part!

**Prologue.**

_**Thursday am.**_

Stringfellow Hawke came awake, eye lids fluttering, tentatively at first.

_**Heavy. **_

_**Too heavy.**_

Just like the rest of his body.

Like he was pulling 10G's, in a nose dive, on the test range.

Gravity, pushing him down on to a hard surface.

Awareness was returning, only very slowly.

Gradually.

The first thing he really registered was the noise.

A soft, beeping sound, and then, the scuffle of soft soled shoes on a hard, polished, tiled floor, in an otherwise quiet room.

He wasn't cold.

He wasn't hot.

There was a soft breeze tickling his nose.

With an odour.

Only very faint, but, it was one that he was aware that he _**should**_ recognise.

His head felt muzzy, stuffed full of cotton wool, slow and sluggish, and reluctant to work.

All this he registered even before he opened his eyes.

Opening them at last, didn't help.

Everything was a blur, and he had to close his eyes again immediately against the brightness of the light, feeling wetness seeping from between his lashes and down his cheeks, as the brightness brought tears to his eyes.

He knew he had to try again, had to know where he was.

He forced his eyes open once more, blinking away fresh tears as he tried to focus on the ceiling immediately above him.

Movement, out of the corner of his eye.

"Well hello there," a soft, female voice cooed close to his right ear and he blinked rapidly again, trying to focus on the moving shape that loomed over him now.

A fuzzy white blur, without definition.

"Well now, you certainly took your time," a blurred shape, a face, he guessed, although nothing as defined as features were discernable to him, loomed closer to him.

He must have tried to move then because in the next instant he felt the light pressure of her hand against his shoulder, stilling him.

"Rest easy, Stringfellow. Take your time. Things are going to seem a little strange for a while," she leaned in close to him, taking his cool hand in her warm one, squeezing it gently as she spoke slowly, in a soft, reassuring voice.

"We've certainly waited a long time to see those beautiful baby blues' of yours, but, doggonnit, if she wasn't right. They really _**are **_the deepest blue I have ever seen."

Her words, although barely registering in his fuzzy brain, were strangely comforting, or perhaps it was her tone of voice, soft and soothing and reassuring. He could hear the smile in her voice, rather than actually see it, so he focused on that and tried to speak.

Only to find him self consumed by a fit of harsh, rasping coughs.

"Oh no, honey, don't try to talk. Now listen to me, Stringfellow, I am Nurse Pattie Monroe, and you are in the hospital. You've been here for some time, but you're alright now," she assured softly.

"When you arrived here, we had to put you on to a ventilator, to help you to breathe," she explained slowly. "But the good news is that we removed the breathing tube a couple of days ago, when you first showed signs of trying to breathe on your own. Your throat is going to feel a little raw for a while. Best if you don't try to talk just yet," she patted his shoulder reassuringly now.

Sure enough, Hawke realised that his throat was dry and burning.

However, he found it reassuring that he did not appear to have any kind of pain.

Except, that was, for a dull sort of throbbing behind his forehead.

"Now, you lie still and I'll go get the doctor. He'll explain everything to you, answer all your questions. In time. For now he'll just be pleased that you decided to come back to us," she smiled softly down at him then, her plain open features swimming before him and finally coming into some semblance of focus now.

"It is good to have you back with us, Stringfellow," she turned on her heel then and walked swiftly toward the door on the opposite side of the room, her rubber soled shoes squeaking on the highly polished flooring.

While the nurse was gone, Hawke tested out his limbs and found that all seemed to be in good working order, if a little heavy and slow.

No pain.

No paralysis.

Well that had to be a good sign.

_**Didn't it?**_

So what the hell had put him in the hospital?

After several minutes, unsure if he had faded in and out several times in the meantime, the nurse returned, bringing with her a tall, well built, balding man in his late fifties, who immediately greeted him with a wide smile.

"So, you finally decided to take a look at us. Yup, she was right, deepest blue eyes I never thought I would see," the doctor gave him a wide, toothy smile and then winked at the nurse who was standing to the side of him, as he reached out and took his patient's wrist, to take his pulse.

"Any pain? Numbness anywhere?" Hawke shook his head, and then winced as the pain in his head increased slightly. "Bet you got a real doozy of a headache, right?"

Hawke nodded his head, carefully this time.

"Not to worry, it will pass. I'm Dr Marcus Coleman," the man assured, introducing himself casually, and only then did he notice the frown clouding his patient's brow.

"Don't worry, all will become clear in time. You just concentrate on getting strong. I know you must have questions, lots of questions, Mr Santini, but right now, I want you to just relax and try to get some more sleep. I know," Coleman chuckled softly. "You only just woke up," he grinned charmingly down at Stringfellow Hawke, who was still frowning, his watering, unfocused eyes darting around the room now, seeking out the familiar, welcoming face of Dominic Santini.

"Dom," he managed to croak in a soft, rough voice.

"Easy, Mr Santini, don't try to talk just yet," the doctor chastised softly. "You need to get some sleep, natural sleep, not the trauma induced slumber you've been subjected to these past four months, while your body healed. Sleep is still the best cure for most things."

Dear God, the man was calling _**him**_ Mr _**Santini!**_

_**Four months?**_

Hawke balked, automatically trying to sit up in bed, thus yanking the oxygen tube from his face and the sudden rough, uncoordinated movement pulling the IV needle from out of his arm, and setting all the machines to beeping erratically.

"Hey, hey, take it easy. What did I just tell you? _**Relax**_. I know it's hard for you to take all of this in right now, so don't even try. Give yourself time, Stringfellow. And if you do as you're told and _**behave**_ yourself, I _**might**_ let you have some visitors later."

The doctor and the nurse worked together to press him gently back down onto the bed and feeling confusion and weariness settle over him, Stringfellow Hawke stopped resisting their ministrations and sank back against his downy soft pillows in silent submission, as they reattached the IV and the monitors and straightened up the pillows and the bed linen.

_**Four months!**_

_**He had been here for four months?**_

No matter how hard Hawke tried, it made no sense to him.

He tried to call to mind the last thing he remembered, but there was nothing, just a big, black hole where his memory used to be.

_**Nothing.**_

He had no idea where he was or what he had been doing before he opened his eyes to find himself here, in this room.

When he was settled at last, the doctor despatched the nurse to fetch him the drug he required and fresh bags of IV fluids, while he wrote up the sedative on his patient's notes.

"I know that all this must seem very strange to you right now, Stringfellow, but you really mustn't try to rush things. I'm going to give you a shot in a minute, a mild sedative to help you relax, not really a sleeping drug, but a muscle relaxant that will help ease the heaviness you must be feeling in your limbs,"

"Dom," Hawke croaked, a little more insistently.

"Yes, yes. All in good time. I _**will**_ call your father, but later," Dr Coleman assured softly. "Right now I want you to lie back and close your eyes and get some rest. I'm glad you finally decided to wake up and take a look at us, however, your timing is just a little off. It's the middle of the night."

The doctor grinned as he signed his initials against the drugs order on the patient's chart, then, looking up at last, noticed the strange, penetrating look on his patient's face and the confusion in his lovely blue eyes.

"And although I know that Dominic would be here in a heart beat if I did call him, after everything that he has been through in the last few months, he needs his rest too. Morning will be soon enough for both of you."

Dominic, his _**father**_?

Hawke's fuzzy brain simply refused to accept the words he was hearing.

_**His **_father was dead.

Dead these last twenty two years.

Drowned, along with his mother, in a boating accident up at the cabin on Eagle Lake.

_**Was this man under the impression that Dominic Santini was his father?**_

Maybe Dominic had told them that so that he would be allowed visitors?

Especially as he had no other blood family to speak on his behalf.

Yes.

That made a little sense.

Four months

_**Four months!**_

What the hell could have happened to him that would have caused him to lose four months of his life?

_**Nothing good,**_ was the only answer he could come up with.

The nurse returned and changed the bag of IV fluids while the doctor administered the sedative and in a very short time, Stringfellow Hawke began to feel the tension drain from his body and the muzziness return to cloud his brain.

"Sleep well, Stringfellow," the doctor had a hold of his hand now and was speaking in a soft, reassuring voice. "You're going to be just fine. Just fine," he patted his hand gently then turned and walked out of the room, leaving Stringfellow Hawke to finally succumb to the weariness, closing his eyes at last and gratefully sinking into the blackness of slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Later that same day ….**_

When Stringfellow Hawke next opened his eyes, it was to find a charming young woman changing the bag of IV fluids that had slowly dripped into his arm whilst he had slept.

His vision seemed to be much clearer now, and his eyes settled on a pretty face, framed by a cloud of fluffy blonde hair and white nurse's cap pinned to the top of her head. Her eyes were grey and they were gazing back at him with undisguised interest as her lips slowly curved up into a smile of greeting.

"Hi," she greeted him pleasantly, busying herself with her duties once more.

"Hi," he croaked.

"They said you'd come around. Can I get you anything?"

"Drink?" he asked hopefully. His throat was hot and dry and raw.

"Sure thing. They said you could have a sip or two of iced water," she grinned becomingly down at him then. "Good for your throat," she told him sagely as she helped him sit up a little to take a sip from the straw sticking out from a plastic cup of iced water, which she also held for him.

She was right.

It was good.

Cool and refreshing and soothing against the hot, dry, rawness of his throat and he gulped the water down quickly before she took the cup away from him.

"You can have a little more, later," she told him apologetically. "You've been asleep for a long time. We have to make sure that that doesn't make you sick first, before we start you back on solid food," she told him and he nodded gently in understanding. "I'll let you into a secret, the food here sucks," she chuckled then.

Hawke found himself smiling back in response. He'd yet to find a hospital on the planet that served decent food, especially to a vegetarian like himself.

"That's better," she grinned again. "I'm Gracie. Gracie Booth."

"String," he faltered, finding himself reluctant to give her his last name.

"Nice to finally meet you."

"What's that?" he looked up at the bags of clear fluid hanging from an IV stand.

"Water, Saline, Glucose, various vitamins and minerals, just the things your body needed while you were asleep. Probably taste a whole lot better than the stuff they put on the plates here." she told him, turning away from him momentarily to hook up the last bag of fluids and altered the speed with which it would continue to drip into his arm, then turned back to him with a wistful sigh.

"Much as I'd like to stay and chat a while, I have to get on. Nurse Monroe, she's the Senior Floor Nurse, will be on the warpath if I hang around here any longer," she confided and Hawke recalled that the older woman he had seen the previous night, had called her self Pattie Monroe.

Nothing wrong with his immediate memory then, he mused silently.

"Dr Coleman will be in to see you shortly," Nurse Booth told him with another warm smile, before disappearing out into the world beyond his room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He must have drifted off again for the next time he opened his eyes it was in response to someone speaking his name, and Hawke found the doctor from earlier standing beside his bed.

"Good morning, Stringfellow," the doctor greeted him pleasantly. "How are you feeling today? Things a little clearer? More focused?"

Hawke nodded gently in response and realised that his head didn't hurt nearly as much as it had earlier.

"Good, good. I'm just going to check you over, and then I think it will be alright for you to see your visitors. Briefly. I told them they shouldn't stay too long, but frankly, I think it will do you good to see them. They've been very patient, waiting for you to decide whether to come back to us or not. "

The doctor set to listening to his chest, taking his temperature and pulse and blood pressure and checking his chart from the previous night, while Hawke silently endured the attention.

The doctor then shone a small pen light into Hawke's eyes, testing the reaction of his pupils and then went on to test Hawke's reflexes trying to ascertain just how sensitive he was to touch and how much movement he had in his limbs, then declaring himself satisfied with his patient's condition, smiled down at Hawke, only to find the young man regarding him impatiently and the smile changed to a frown.

"What the hell happened to me, doc?" Hawke croaked. "How did I end up here?"

"You don't remember?" Dr Coleman frowned.

"Not a damned thing," Hawke sighed expressively.

"Well, I suppose that's only to be expected," Coleman assured. "It might only be temporary, but, here is a slight chance that you might never remember, that your mind might block it out."

"Block what out?" Hawke demanded in a gruff voice.

"All in good time, Stringfellow. One thing I have learned after all these years in this business, is, that it doesn't pay to rush things, to push too hard, to try to remember things before you're mind is ready."

"Tell me where the hell I am and what the hell happened to me," Hawke snarled then, growing agitated with the doctor's reluctance to tell him the truth.

"You are in hospital, in Elkington, California, and you were in a plane crash," Coleman told him reluctantly, surprised by the hard, menacing expression he now saw on the young man's face, so used was he to seeing it relaxed and peaceful in repose.

"Where? What?" the confusion was back on his face now and the doctor let out a soft sigh.

"That's all you need to know right now, Stringfellow. Your plane crashed. You were seriously injured. They transferred you here from a hospital in Los Angeles, because you were in a coma, and we are a specialist center. You have been in a coma for the last four months, Stringfellow, until a couple of days ago, when we began to see the signs that you were trying to come back to us,"Coleman explained patiently.

"A coma? Four months? Doc, none of this makes any sense!"

The agitation and perplexed expression displayed on his patient's face gave the doctor good reason to believe that his memory loss was real, and possibly quite significant as an indication as to how the coma had affected his mind.

"I'm not surprised. Really. You either won't remember anything at all, or your mind could be caught up in the mundane little things that you did before the accident, but the actual incident it's self. Well, trauma can cause a patient to simply blot out what is too painful for them to face. You have to give yourself time, Stringfellow," Coleman advised sagely.

"Don't be in too much of a hurry to run before your can walk. Do you feel up to having your visitors now?" he decided to change the subject then, noting that his patient still looked confused and perplexed and more than a little irritated. "If you don't feel ready, I could tell them that you are sleeping again."

"No. It's ok, doc," Hawke let out a deep sigh of resignation.

Maybe his visitors would have some answers for him.

Seeing familiar faces might just help him to put this into some kind of perspective.

_**Dominic Santini.**_

Hawke knew that he could trust his old friend and mentor to be straight with him ….

_**Visitors,**_ the doctor had said.

That could mean only one thing. Maybe he had brought Caitlin with him. Maybe Archangel and Marella were here too.

The four people who were as close to family that he had in this world.

"All right. If you're sure? But, if it looks like its getting too much for you, I'll shoo them away," Dr Coleman warned him just for the record. "Can't have you getting over excited now."

Coleman left the room then, briefly and while he was gone, Stringfellow Hawke stared up at the ceiling, trying to get his mind to work.

Trying to remember some small detail of what he had been doing before he woke up here in this room.

Why was it he could remember the people that populated his life, Dom, Cait, Archangel, Marella, but there was still nothing specific.

No detail to grasp on to.

Had he gone to the airfield to help Dom with the repairs that were backing up, or had they gone to one of the major studios to fly a stunt? One that had possibly gone wrong?

Hence the plane crash.

Or had he been up there in the 'Lady'? A check flight? But no, if it were a check flight, or even a mission, Dom would have been with him.

Unless, maybe it had just been one of those times, when he needed to think.

Time alone to clear his head.

But he couldn't remember a thing.

And then the door opened, Dr Coleman returning with his visitors, except, to his complete surprise and utter amazement, Hawke was not greeted by the concerned faces of his friends, Dominic Santini, Caitlin O'Shannessy, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and his assistant Marella, but two small boys, who hurtled across the room and immediately began to climb up onto the bed, both launching themselves at him, throwing their arms around him and pressing soft, warm, sticky lips to his cheeks, his neck, his nose, his eyelids and running their equally sticky little fingers through his hair.

"Daddy! Daddy!" both giggled happily, burying their noses into his neck and chest as they wriggled and squirmed to get closer to him, snuggling into him, wrestling with each other to see who could get closer.

Automatically, without thought, Hawke found himself lifting his hand to stroke the head of the child nearest to him, a brown haired, blue eyed cherub of approximately five years of age, cradling his warm, soft head in the palm of his hand, until the child was roughly shoved out of the way the by the other boy.

His brother no doubt, as they were as alike as two peas in a pod. A slightly bigger child, aged about seven, maybe eight, with hair the colour of toffee and piercing blue eyes, that regarded Hawke with familiarity, and such trust and love and happiness.

"Boys! Boys! Be careful, please!"

The new voice belonged to a woman, Hawke realised as he pulled his startled gaze away from the children who were using his chest as a trampoline.

She was a petite brunette, hair wound up in a knot in the nape of her neck, stray wisps spilling out here and there, no doubt due to the inquisitive fingers of the child she had balanced astride her hip. A pretty little girl, aged no more than about two or three, fluffy dark brown hair framing an angelic face which was dominated by large green eyes.

Eyes, that were the same as her mother's. The most incredible shade of green, that Stringfellow Hawke had ever seen. Eyes which were huge, in the young woman's pale, anxious face, as they settled on him now, with an expression that suddenly made his breath catch in his throat.

Such joy. Such love. Such warmth.

Tenderness. Relief. Affection.

Such hunger.

He saw all of those things shining there in her eyes.

All directed unwaveringly at him.

An anxious, shy smile tugging at her lips now, and as she turned fully to face him he could not help noticing the fact that she was heavily pregnant.

"Don't stay too long," Dr Coleman was warning the woman in a soft voice. "He still needs plenty of rest."

"We won't, doctor, but the kids were just so excited when they heard he was awake, I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything with them until they had seen him."

She was talking to the doctor, but her gaze never left Hawke's face, tears shimmering in those huge green eyes now as she fought to maintain her composure.

"They've missed him so much. We've all missed him so much."

"Five minutes," the doctor chuckled. "And don't you get too excited either," he lowered his gaze to her swollen abdomen then. "Don't want you going into labour just yet."

"No chance of that doc, I need a stick or two of dynamite to encourage this one out into the world," she smiled gently then. "I still have a couple of weeks to go yet," she told him, lightly running her free hand over her swollen belly.

"Dadda!" the little girl, wriggling and squirming in her mother's arms, was leaning out toward him too now a beautiful smile on her face. "Dadda, kiss, kiss," she demanded.

Despite his complete confusion, Hawke found himself smiling as her little arms reached out to him. Obviously she had no desire to be left out of the reunion.

"Dadda! Dadda!"

"Ok honey," the young woman placated the squirming child, moving slowly toward the bed, holding on to her daughter tightly as the little girl stood on the bed, trying to avoid being kicked by her brothers, as she leaned in and planted a big wet kiss on Hawke's rough cheek, letting out a soft giggle as she pinched his cheeks with her strong little fingers and thumbs, and pouting very becomingly, lightly touched her lips to the tip of his nose, before her mother then carefully pulled her away, settling her against the other hip.

The young woman said not a word to Hawke, but the look she gave him spoke volumes.

"Your turn, Mommy," The older boy encouraged. "You gotta kiss Daddy too."

"Sweet heart, I," she began to protest, a soft blush colouring her cheeks.

"You gotta!" both boys chorused together and the soft blush deepened significantly on the young woman's cheeks, as she gave Hawke a pained, apologetic look and a beautiful smile and very carefully leaned down to press soft, warm lips to Hawke's own.

Lingering, briefly.

However, she withdrew quickly, when he did not respond, and the look she gave to him as she drew away from him, told of her surprise and her anxiety.

"You have a beautiful family, Stringfellow," Dr Coleman, who had been watching the tender scene with the children, now returned his attention to his patient, only to find a look of complete bafflement on the young man's face.

A look that told the older man all too clearly that his patient had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

A frown settled on the doctor's face then, which the young woman standing beside the bed was quick to notice, a frown also tugging at her delicate features as she looked firstly from the doctor to the young man in the hospital bed and then back to the doctor.

"Boys, boys," she spoke softly but commandingly now, stilling the wriggling youngsters. "Better get down now and let Daddy get some rest," her eyes never left Hawke's face, and now he could clearly see confusion and something else in her lovely green eyes.

Disappointment.

Hurt.

"Ah, Mommy!" The boys protested mildly, but obeyed her nonetheless, after she gave them a no nonsense glare, both youngsters scrambled down off the bed and glumly marched back across the room, where they waited for her at the closed door.

"We can come back another time," Mother assured the children but the look she gave to the young man in the bed was uncertain. "That's right? Isn't Daddy?"

Hawke lowered his eyes, unable to look at her pale, anxious face any longer for the hurt he could see written there was tugging at his heart, and his conscience.

In the next instant she was reaching out to take his hand. Hers was warm and soft against his skin, trembling slightly, as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then she was walking across the room to join the boys at the door.

At the door she stopped and turned back, obviously wanting to say something, but at a loss as to know what.

She gave Hawke one last weak smile and then herded the children out of the room.

"Stringfellow?" Dr Coleman came up beside his bed and regarded him with open curiosity. "What is it?"

"I, I …." Hawke stammered.

"You do know who that was, don't you?"

"Hell no!" Hawke let out a ragged sigh and closed his eyes. "I don't have a clue!"

"All right. All right, don't worry your head over it now. She's a good girl, a sensible girl. I'm sure she'll understand, take it in her stride."

"But who the hell is she?"

"That, my dear boy, was your wife, Helen Santini, and your lovely family, Dominic Junior, Christopher and Lucy," Dr Coleman explained, watching the shocked expression settle on his patient's face. "The new addition to the family is due in about three weeks from now."

"My what? My …. wife? No way, doc! I'm not married," Hawke protested vehemently. "Besides, Dominic Santini doesn't have a daughter called Helen."

"She's _**Mrs**_ Helen Santini," Coleman chuckled softly. "As is customary in this country, she took _**your **_name when you were married."

"_**My**_ name? Oh no, doc, _**my**_ name is Hawke, Stringfellow Hawke_**, not**_ Santini," Hawke again protested and this time saw the shocked look on the doctor's face.

"All right, Mr Santini, calm yourself."

"I just told you, my name is Stringfellow Hawke, not Santini. No matter what he might have told you, and no matter how much I love that old reprobate, Dominic Santini, he is _**not **_my father."

"Ok, ok, steady," the doctor reached out and stilled him with a firm hand against his shoulder. "Take a deep breath and calm down," he advised. "Then maybe we can see if we can sort this out for you."

"I'm telling you, doc, I _**don't**_ have a wife, I _**don't**_ have three kids, my name is Hawke _**not **_Santini and Dominic is _**not**_ my father," Hawke reiterated. "_**My**_ father is dead. He died more than twenty years ago, in a boating accident. Both my parents did."

"Calm down, Stringfellow," this in a stern voice now. "You're right. Your real father _**did **_die, not in a boating accident, but in a fire, when you were eight years old. Your real parents died of smoke inhalation when they were trapped in a house fire, and Dominic Santini took you in and raised you as his own son. He legally adopted you when you were ten years old and you took his name then. "

"_**What? No! That's not right!"**_

"It's just something else that you don't remember. Just like you don't remember marrying Helen."

"No, doc, it's not! I was _**never**_ married," Hawke again protested. "Never."

"All right, don't upset yourself. If you don't calm down I will have no choice but to give you a sedative," the doctor warned solemnly and the look on his face warned Hawke that he meant business.

"What about St John?" Hawke suddenly demanded.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah."

"What about him, son?" Coleman asked gently.

"Did Dominic take him in too?" there was a hint of sarcasm in the younger man's voice now, almost as though he were goading the doctor.

"Of course he did, Stringfellow. St John was far too young to take care of you all by himself, when your parents died. He was only twelve. Do you remember what happened to him?"

"Vietnam. He's MIA."

"MIA?"

"Missing In Action. Still."

"No, son."

"No?" Hawke sneered. "You telling me any minute now, he's gonna walk in through that door?"

"No son, St John died, in 1969. Don't you remember? He was killed on a mission in the jungle. You were with him. You were badly wounded. They managed to pull all you boys out and then they shipped you home, with St John's body."

"_**No!"**_

"Steady! Steady!"

"No, he can't be dead! He can't! I don't believe you, _**I would know**_, I would _**feel **_it. I would _**know**_ if he were dead."

"I know it is hard for you to accept, Stringfellow, but the simple truth is, your brother has been dead for a very long time," the look the older man gave to Hawke was genuinely regretful.

"I know that must be painful for you to hear, _**again, **_but, it _**is**_ the truth."

"No!"

"You haven't asked about Skyler. Don't you want to know how she is?"

"What? Who?"

"Skyler. Your sister."

"My what?" Hawke regarded the doctor with open mouthed astonishment, wondering which one of them should be certified as insane.

"Your _**twin**_ sister," the doctor tried to smother a grin. "Your parents did seem to have a penchant for unusual names."

"I don't have a sister, much less a twin!" Hawke scoffed.

Obviously they were descending into the realms of fantasy now.

If he weren't so damned angry and outraged, he would have laughed out loud.

A twin sister!

The very idea of it! It was preposterous!

Obviously they hadn't done their homework very well.

_**Or maybe it was their first mistake?**_

Whoever _**they **_were?

Trying to get him to believe something so completely outrageous.

"I can assure you that you do," Coleman reached out and patted the back of Hawke's hand gently now. "She married an Air Force pilot and they have two children, a girl and a boy. He's based in Europe, Germany, for a little while, but they're in England now, I think, or else she would have been here."

Hawke opened his mouth to protest once more, but Dr Coleman stilled him by resting his hand lightly on Hawke's hand.

"But, for arguments sake, I accept that you don't remember her right now."

"I _**never**_ had a sister!" Hawke snarled.

"Stringfellow," the doctor threw him a warning look then, turning his head slightly to watch the machines on the other side of the room as their readings rose higher and higher, indicating his patient's agitation.

"Now listen to me, Stringfellow," Coleman sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and fixed Hawke with a steady gaze. "By all accounts, you have been a loving, considerate, caring, adoring and much loved son. You have made a life for yourself with a responsible job, a nice home, a lovely young woman who loves you very much. Those beautiful children have a doting, loving, wonderful father whom they adore and need very much. I've seen what your being here has done to all these people, your family. I've seen the worry and the pain and the heartache they have been through in the last four months, Stringfellow. I have been honoured and privileged to witness for myself just how deeply you are loved by your family. You are a very lucky young man, to know such love."

"Not _**me**_. I don't know whose life that is you're describing, doc, but it sure as hell isn't _**mine!**_"

"Just because it's not the way you remember it exactly, doesn't mean that it isn't true either, Stringfellow," the doctor told him forlornly.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

"I don't know, Stringfellow," Dr Coleman let out a deep sigh then. "But, I promise you, we will get to the bottom of it," he assured.

"What year is this? What month?" Hawke demanded, needing answers. Needing an anchor, because he was floundering here.

"All in good time, Stringfellow."

"Doc, they're simple questions," Hawke pressed, his expression one of suspicion now.

"What year do you _**think**_ it is, Stringfellow?" Coleman countered, curious to know what, if anything, the young man did remember of his life before.

It might just help them to identify where the break in his memory began.

Hawke closed his eyes and tried to wrack his brain, straining to call to mind one small detail, _**any**_ detail of his life, before he had woken up here last night, even the smallest, most mundane thing.

Dammit, why couldn't he remember?

How could he be so damned sure that the life the doctor had described to him just now _**wasn't**_ really _**his**_, when he couldn't recall the simplest detail?

_**But he was sure.**_

He _**knew**_ that that life belonged to someone else.

That man was not him.

_**Not him.**_

_**He was Stringfellow Hawke.**_

_**Not Stringfellow Santini.**_

_**Damn.**_

"All right, Stringfellow," the doctor let out a soft sigh. "You say that you are not Stringfellow Santini? So, tell me about this fellow, Stringfellow Hawke. It might help to jog loose a few of your memories, if you tell me what you recall of his life."

"Not _**his**_ life, doc, _**my life.**_ _**I**_ am Stringfellow Hawke. I'm thirty six years old, single, childless, from Los Angeles California. My brother, St John has been Missing in Action, in Vietnam since 1969, and I most definitely do not have a sister! I am a free lance pilot. I work for my father's old war buddy, Dominic Santini. He has an air service, Santini Air, based in Van Nuys. I help him out, now and again, flying stunts for movies and TV and aerial photography projects, and when I'm not working, I spend most of my time up at my cabin on Eagle Lake, with my dog, Tet, fishing," he recited, confidently knowing even as he said it that it was all true.

"And is Stringfellow Hawke happy?"

"I guess," Hawke sighed deeply.

"So, did it help? Are you any closer to remembering the month? The year?"

"No," Hawke moaned expressively. "No, Wait!"

He paused, his eyes widening now as something flashed through his mind. A smile began to form on his lips, slowly at first, then more confidently.

"I just had a physical, to renew my pilot's licence," the memory flashed before his eyes, along with the date circled in red on the calendar, in the office at Santini Air. Friday July 11, 1986.

Dominic had insisted that he write it on the office calendar so that they wouldn't forget. After all, they couldn't afford for him to allow his licence to lapse.

Caitlin had even turned it into a joke, greeting him every morning when he arrived at the hangar with a NASA style countdown to the date.

"It's July, 1986."

Hawke waited for a reaction, but Dr Coleman neither confirmed nor denied that what Hawke said was true.

"Doc?" Hawke glared at him. "Well?" He demanded. "Is it or isn't it?"

"Stringfellow, today is Thursday August 13th, 1987," Coleman told him, giving him a sympathetic look.

"_**What!" **_

"Calm down, son," Coleman reached out and laid a reassuring hand on Hawke's now. "It is true that there are some similarities between Stringfellow Hawke's life and Stringfellow Santini's, which, I think, is quite encouraging. Although I'm no expert," the doctor paused for a moment, waiting for his patient to calm down a little.

"Yes, Dominic was your father's best buddy during the Second World War, and he did have an air service, although I don't think you ever flew for him. You had your job with the airline, and there was a cabin at Eagle Lake, although you don't use it now. The fire. That was where your real parents died, back in 1958."

"No, no, no, no, no!"

"Deny it all you like, it doesn't change the facts, Stringfellow. I'm not making any of this up, you know. We took a comprehensive biography from Dominic and Helen when you were admitted and the rest is on file. It's all documented. Your medical history. Your army records. Your parents death certificates, your adoption papers. Your marriage certificate and the children's birth certificates."

All of which, Hawke knew, could, in the right hands, be quite artfully forged.

"I can't tell you the times I've been in this room checking on your condition when Helen or Dominic were here, visiting with you. Talking to you about some incident in the past, trying to reach you. To jog your memory," he confided. "We encourage it. We believe that a comatose patient can still hear, and that if they hear a familiar voice, it might just bring them around."

"Look, I'm going to order some more tests. I think we need to make sure that the head injury you sustained in the crash wasn't more serious than we first thought. In the mean time, you try to calm down and get some rest."

"I don't understand what the hell is going on here, doc. Nothing makes sense," Hawke was incredulous. "I know what I _**know, **_and what I just told you is the truth!"

And yet, if the doctor was to be believed, it appeared that it wasn't just four months of his life that he had lost.

_**But, more than a year.**_

_**Four months in a coma, and nine months that couldn't be accounted for.**_

_**Where had he been during those nine months?**_

_**What had he been doing?**_

_**It didn't add up. It just didn't add up.**_

_**Something was going on here, something screwy!**_

"Try not to worry about it, Stringfellow. I am sure that there is a simple explanation. After all, your mind has been redundant for four months, and now, suddenly, it's being bombarded with all kinds of information. Naturally, it's going to take time to process everything that is going on. We have been giving you various drugs while you have been comatose. Your body has also been through considerable physical trauma. All these things could be affecting your memory," Dr Coleman explained, but Hawke could see from his expression that he was grasping at straws. "I'd better go and explain this development to Helen. She must be feeling pretty confused right now."

"Where's Dominic? I want, I _**need**_ to see Dominic."

"He'll be here in a little while. He wanted Helen and the children to see you first. Naturally he thought you would want to see your, family first, and he said he had something that he needed to do before he saw you."

"Dammit, doc, what is going on here? I feel like I woke up in the middle of the Twilight Zone!"

"I'm sure it is something and nothing, and we will get to the bottom of it, but, you have to calm down, Stringfellow, getting yourself all worked up is not going to help matters."

"I can't help it, doc, I don't know who the hell I am anymore! You're telling me that everything that I remember of my life before, everything I believe in, is a false memory," Hawke grew agitated once more. "So tell me who I am. Who, _**you**_ believe _**I**_ am."

"I _**know**_ that you are Stringfellow Santini, but saying it won't make _**you**_ believe it, will it, dear boy?"

"So who the hell is Stringfellow Santini?"

"He is a much loved son, brother, father and husband."

"And?"

"And the rest you will remember. In time," he assured. "I don't believe my telling you all about him will help. You have to remember for yourself. That is the only way that you will come to believe it."

"And what if I never remember? I can't remember what you're telling me, because it never happened that way, and I'll never believe it, doc, because I _**know**_ what is true and what is real."

"You're getting yourself worked up again. Maybe getting you that sedative isn't such a bad idea after all?"

"No, I've slept too long as it is," Hawke protested. Slept away possibly thirteen months of his life, if, the doctor was to be believed.

_**If, **_being the optimum word.

Hawke could not help wondering if when he woke up the next time, things would be back to normal.

The normal he remembered.

Maybe whatever it was that had put him in the hospital in the first place, a plane crash ….

Well, that could mean that he had had a severe crack to the head. That, along with the drugs that they had been giving him, maybe the doctor had a point.

Maybe it was messing with his brain.

_**If, he had actually crashed his plane?**_

_**If, he really had been out of it for four months?**_

Suspicious SOB that he was, he wasn't prepared to lie here and buy everything that he had been told by this innocent looking old man, without question.

He certainly hadn't dismissed the idea that the Russians or the East Germans were playing with his mind.

_**Again. **_

Like the time they had drugged him and then faked a helicopter crash and tried to convince him that he had been in a coma for almost a year.

They'd tried it before.

Maybe they thought that if they refined their technique, this time they might succeed?

Not very original, but maybe they figured that he wouldn't believe that they would try the same sting again?

It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.

After all, it made more damned sense to him than that he had had a knock on the head, and woken up more than a year later, in the middle of someone else's life!

Maybe something had gone wrong with their plan and they hadn't counted on him remembering so much of his _**real**_ life?

As, _**Stringfellow Hawke.**_

Brian washing, he knew from the last time, wasn't one hundred percent reliable.

Sometimes it was the little things that threw a spanner into the works.

Little things like having calluses on his fingers, when he supposedly had been in a coma for more than a year.

Subconsciously, he began to massage the tips of his fingers, then worked his way down to his palms.

_**No callouses.**_

_**Smooth as the proverbial baby's backside.**_

But that didn't really mean anything.

_**Did it?**_

Oh yeah, they were good, real good.

Authentic sounding American accents, genuine hospital equipment, and sound track. All aimed at making him believe that this really was a hospital.

But, he had seen through it the last time.

They should have known that he would see through it again.

Something was definitely wrong about this whole scenario.

But, he was convinced that it wasn't him.

However, if he was going to discover what was _**really**_ going on, maybe he would just have to play along.

Just for a little while.

Let them think that they were convincing him, that he believed in their lies.

Maybe then they would show their hand, and he would be able to get out of here and make contact with Archangel and Dominic.

The _**real**_ Dominic Santini that was, not the fake they were most likely going to try to convince him was his father.

Just as last time, they had tried to brainwash him into thinking that St John had been rescued and that Dom and Archangel had been killed during the rescue mission.

"All right," Dr Coleman sighed deeply now, looking a little uncomfortable, but he really did not want to have to drug the young man back into slumber.

His patient's body had been subjected to enough drugs over the past four months as it was, and he couldn't be entirely sure that this memory dysfunction didn't have something to do with the drug regime that he had been on prior to his coming around.

There was still so much that they did not understand about comas and brain injuries, what happened to the patient whilst they were actually unconscious, and how their minds reacted to the sudden stimuli of normal, ordinary every day life.

"All right," Coleman sighed deeply again in resignation, his mind now wandering, to where Helen Santini and her children were waiting, in the corridor outside, and what he was going to tell her.

No doubt she would want answers, and he did not have a clue what he was going to say to her.

She was a strong young woman, had stood up to all of this very well, under the circumstances, but he had a feeling that this might just tip her over the edge, emotionally, especially this late on in her pregnancy, when hormones were raging out of control.

He would need to be very careful what he told her.

Mainly because he just didn't know yet what exactly they were dealing with. What they might be up against.

"Try to rest," he advised his patient now, and rose stiffly from his perch on the edge of the bed.

"I will," Hawke promised. "Just make sure Dominic doesn't leave without seeing me, even if I'm sleeping. I have to talk to him. Please."

"I understand. I really don't know what difference it will make, but," the doctor shrugged, then walked toward the now closed door, then suddenly turned back to regard Hawke thoughtfully. "Then again, seeing Dominic might just put things into perspective, make things slot back together," he smiled weakly at his patient.

"Maybe. Thanks doc, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Stringfellow. I just wish it had worked out a little differently. This should have been such a joyous time for you and for your family, a time for celebration. What they have all been waiting so patiently for all this time. For you to decide whether to live or not," and with that he disappeared out into the corridor.

As he stopped his jeep in the hospital parking lot, Dominic Santini spotted his daughter in law, Helen and his grandchildren, sitting in her car, and a frown puckered his brow beneath his battered old red baseball cap.

He slipped out of the jeep and walked casually across the parking lot, hitching up his pants around his big belly as he went.

As he drew closer, he could see that Helen was leaning over the steering wheel, head bowed and resting on her forearms, and just for a moment he thought that maybe she was ill.

Or, in labor.

His tired old heart skipped several beats as it came up into his throat.

He knocked the window gently and immediately she looked up to see who it was.

Again his heart flip-flopped in his chest, as he saw her lovely, pale face, awash with tears and then in the next instant, she had the door open and threw herself into his strong, sure arms, burying her face in his shoulder, as harsh sobs wracked her slender body.

"Hey, hey, there, there, honey it's all right. He's gonna be fine, just fine. Did you two have a nice reunion?"

Even as he asked the question, she clung to him more tightly, and sobbed even harder.

"Was it something I said?" he quipped.

"Oh Dominic," she sobbed broken heartedly against him.

"What is it, honey?" he gently put her away from him then, noting out of the corner of his eye the curious stares of the youngsters secured in the back of the car, as they watched their mother.

"I don't know, but I think something is wrong."

"Oh honey, he just woke up after being in a coma for four months! You and this lot go barrelling in there, well, it's gotta be a lot for him to cope with," he placated, but she continued to sob softly, shaking her head.

"I'm frightened, Dom."

"Oh honey, the worst is over with now," he tried to reassure her, but the look she shot back at him told him that she was far from believing that.

"And look at you, a nervous wreck after all that you've been through, and this little one only a few weeks away from joining the family," he laid a soft, warm hand against the swell of her belly between them, and felt the child within move beneath his touch.

A kick or a punch, he wasn't sure, but it was strong and confident and reassuring.

"Wow! Strong little sucker!" he grinned proudly.

"I'm convinced it's another boy," she remarked absently.

"And there's nothing wrong with that!" Dominic Santini's grin grew wider still.

"No, except I was kinda hoping for another girl. Would even up the teams a little," she smiled softly then. "Lucy and I are kinda out numbered at the moment."

To Dominic Santini's surprise and consternation she suddenly hung her head and began weeping once more.

"Oh! What is it, love?" he gathered her gently into his arms once more and gave her a reassuring squeeze, before putting her away from him once more. "Tell me?"

"Doc Coleman says it's nothing to worry about, but …."

"But?" he coaxed, his expression clouding then.

"Well, it seems he's having some problems with his memory, Dom. Oh God, Dom, he doesn't remember us!" her lovely face crumpled and she sobbed softly. "He looked at me like I was a stranger."

"The kids too?"

"The kids too. He didn't exactly push them away, but, I could see in his face that he didn't understand what was going on . He didn't know who they were."

"Dammit, I _**knew**_ I should have been here!" Santini grew solemn then for a moment.

"Oh Dominic, I'm so sorry, I forgot," Helen Santini's green eyes grew wide then as she remembered the errand that had kept him away from the hospital until now.

"No matter," he told her with a weak smile, as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

"Are you all right?" she regarded him with genuine concern then.

"As well as I'll ever be on this day of the year," he sighed heavily then. "It's ok. Maybe from now on, this day will have a different meaning for all of us? The day our boy came back to life."

She nodded silently, but he could see that there was something still troubling her. It was there in those beautiful, fathomless, sea green eyes of hers.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"I don't know. When I kissed him," she lowered her eyes coyly then for a moment before continuing. "It was like, like he was a stranger too."

"It's been a while, love. Give yourself time. I'm sure you two love birds will be billing and cooing at each other again in no time, after all, that little bundle in there wasn't the result of immaculate conception," he chuckled at the shy expression on her face as she coloured up becomingly then.

It never ceased to amaze him that, this lovely young woman, who had won the battered and beaten heart of his son, Stringfellow, more than ten years ago, and borne him three beautiful children, could still blush as furiously as any coy virgin when matters romantic came up in the conversation.

"What did you expect, love?" he grinned wickedly at her then.

"That he would at least be as pleased to see us, _**me, **_as we all are to see him," she sniffed then, and Dominic could see that she was serious.

"Honey, it's gotta be a shock to his system. He's been out of the loop for a long time," he reminded her gently. "Give him time."

"That's what Doc Coleman said," she sighed raggedly then and forced herself to give him a weak smile.

"Well, there ya go. We can't both be wrong now, can we?"

"No, Dom," she stepped forward and put her arms around him once more. "Thanks Papa Dominic. I love you so very much."

"I love you too, honey."

"You'd better get in there. He's been asking for you."

"Really?" there was genuine love and pleasure in the older man's rheumy blue/grey eyes now.

"Uh huh," she looked crestfallen, just for a moment and Dominic felt his heart constrict in his chest.

Dammit, this should have been the happiest moment of her life.

Nobody knew better than he did just how much she loved his son.

All of this really had been tough on her, and he hadn't realised just how much until they had gotten the call from Dr Coleman a couple of days before, to say that he believed that String was finally coming out of the coma.

Finally making an effort to breathe, on his own. Reacting to light and sound, and heat and cold.

Even though he probably wouldn't remember the barrage of tests they subjected him to weekly.

This week they had finally gotten the results that they had all been hoping, praying for.

Helen had always seemed so strong to him.

So together.

She had had to be.

Always cheerful and positive.

Yet, he could guess at how she dealt with her grief, her worries, in private.

If she had any doubts that String would recover, that he would wake up and pull through this thing, she had never allowed him to see.

Never allowed him to see her pain.

Her tears.

She was a real trouper.

Keeping the kids in line and making sure that life for the rest of them went on in as normal a fashion as possible.

And then suddenly, when he had told her what Doc Coleman had told him on the telephone, she had fallen apart.

Gone to pieces. The facade of calm, poised acceptance dissolving in a flood of tears.

Still, Dominic Santini could not help thinking that it had done her good to let go like that.

However, it had left her emotionally fragile.

Fresh tears, never very far away.

As he had watched her wrestle to regain her composure and pick up the pieces of her life, Dominic Santini had found himself praying that his boy knew just how deeply he was loved by this incredible young woman.

"Then I'd better not keep him waiting any longer."

"Maybe you'd better speak with Dr Coleman first," she suggested tentatively. "I got the feeling there was a whole lot more he was frightened to tell me about," she confided then. "Especially when he told me that he thought that it would probably be better if I didn't visit String again for a day or two," her voice caught in her throat then and she lowered her eyes briefly before looking back up into his anxious face.

"What?" Santini frowned.

"Uh huh."

"Better for who exactly?"

"I know he's just looking out for String, but he's my husband, and I want to be with him. I _**need**_ to be with him. I've been at his side every day for the last four months while he's been unconscious. I'm not going to desert him now he's awake, but, Dr Coleman seems to think that so long as his memory is causing him trouble, it would be better if the kids and I stayed away."

"You leave Dr Coleman to me, honey. I can understand about the kids, a hospital room ain't no place for them, but I'm sure that he didn't mean that you shouldn't visit String at all."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'd better get this lot over to Mrs Randall's place. She promised to watch them for me while I go to the clinic for my check up."

"Ok honey. You drive carefully and take care," he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her cool, pale cheek.

He was concerned about her driving, this late on in her pregnancy, but what choice did she have? She had promised him that she would only make short, local journeys, to the store, dropping the kids off and picking them up again from school and Kindergarten, and to the hospital and back and he had had to be satisfied with that.

"Let me know how you two get on," he grinned, pointing down toward her large belly.

"Ok, I'll call you. Better yet, come to dinner tonight. I could use some adult company. You can tell me all about it. I'll make your favourite," she smiled softly then.

"Which one?" he grinned back at her.

"All of them!" she countered and opened the car door, slipping gracefully inside once more and checking that the children were safely secured in the back.

"There goes my waistline," he chuckled, patting his rotund belly jovially.

"Drop by after visiting time. Kids, say bye bye to Grandpa Dominic."

"Bye, bye Grandpa!" the three angelic faces in the backseat chorused as their mother turned on the engine and put the car into gear, then all four of them waved at him as Helen Santini drove slowly and carefully out of the hospital parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dom?"

Stringfellow Hawke regarded Dominic Santini with wide, startled blue eyes as the older man stood over him, firmly taking his hand in his own, to give it a loving, reassuring squeeze as he leaned in to press warm, dry lips to his rough cheek.

Hawke couldn't believe his eyes.

It _**was**_ Dominic.

_**It really was Dominic.**_

Not some look-a-like, or some fraud, enemy forces were trying to make him believe was Dominic. Had brainwashed him into believing was Dominic.

It really was him.

Same old pants that were a little too small in the waist and needed hitching up around his rotund belly, same battered red silk baseball cap, same short cropped iron grey hair and rheumy grey/blue eyes.

That same, dear, beloved face.

Same happy, loving smile.

Hawke's confusion only deepened.

This wasn't what he had expected.

_**Not what he had expected at all.**_

Overcome by a wave of emotion and relief, Hawke found himself wrapping his arms around Dominic Santini's strong, solid, upper body and hugging him fiercely, unexpected tears filling his eyes, as he held on tightly to the older man and gulped down the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.

No. Not what he had expected, but a familiar face nonetheless.

The anchor he needed.

He closed his eyes and held on tightly.

Praying that when he opened his eyes once more the world he found himself looking upon would be familiar once again.

"Hey, hey," Dominic spoke in a soft, soothing voice, feeling tears well up in his own eyes, returning the young man's hug with equal pressure and intensity. "I'm pleased to see you too, son," his voice was low and ragged with emotion.

When the embrace lingered on, Dominic reluctantly and carefully disentangled himself from the young man's embrace, drawing back just a little to get a good look at him, but keeping a firm but gentle hold on his beloved son's hand as he smiled down at him.

Hawke was touched to see tears glistening in the older man's eyes too as he knuckled away the moisture from his own cheeks now.

The smile became rueful.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind, but, don't you think _**that's**_ the kind of greeting you should have given your wife, son?"

Dominic watched the look of relief and affection slide from his son's face, to be replaced by regret and confusion and disappointment.

Hawke hadn't expected that the first words that Dominic would utter to him would end with a reprimand.

A mild one by his usual standards, but, a reprimand, all the same.

Hawke's heart sank.

_**So, whatever the hell was going on here, Dominic was in on it too.**_

Hawke found it hard to believe.

He could see no benefit in Dominic going along with this charade.

He let out a deep sigh as Dominic perched himself on the edge of the bed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Doc Coleman says you're gonna be just fine," Dominic told him gently. "He also says you have a little problem with your memory."

"A little problem!" Hawke scoffed then and Santini recognised the look he gave him.

The Santini Special he called it.

That particular scowl the boy had been using on him since he was a kid, when he was uncomfortable with something, or didn't want to talk about something.

It hadn't worked then, and it didn't work now.

"Yeah, more holes in it than Swiss cheese," Dominic Santini grinned then. His own brand of humour had always counteracted the younger man's tendency to be far too serious and to bottle things up and keep his thoughts to himself.

"I'll say," Hawke smiled softly, then sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "Not holes exactly," he grew serious then.

"Yeah, the doc said. He also said you shouldn't worry about it too much. You're bound to be a little confused and disorientated for a few days."

"That has to be the understatement of the decade, Dom!"

Hawke was surprised to see a frown pulling Dominic's brow down, and just for the briefest instant, he saw hurt flash through the older man's blue/grey eyes.

"Dom?"

"You haven't called me that since you were ten years old, kid," this made Hawke frown now. "It's been, Dad, since the day we walked out of that judge's office. The day Maria and I adopted you and St John and Sky," Dominic's voice trailed off then as he noticed the look of anger and bafflement on the younger man's face.

"You don't remember that?" Hawke shook his head gently.

"Who's Maria?"

"My wife. Your adopted mother."

Dominic's voice suddenly caught in his throat and he let go of Hawke's hand as he rose quickly from the bed and turned away from Hawke, and the younger man watched with confusion and sorrow as the older man's head bowed, shoulders heaving as silent sobs suddenly consumed him, briefly.

He pulled himself together quickly and turned back to look at Hawke with red rimmed eyes filled with pain.

"Sorry, son," he heaved a heavy sigh and came back to resume his perch on the side of the bed, as the younger man watched him with undisguised curiosity.

"I just came from putting fresh flowers on her grave. She passed away five years ago today," he reminded gently. "That's why I wasn't here earlier," he explained. "I wanted to tell her that you were awake …. That she doesn't have to worry any more …. That you were ok."

"I'm sorry, Dom," Hawke didn't know what else to say.

He could hardly show grief over the death of a woman that he had never known.

"It's dumb, I know. I know she can't hear me, but I still like to tell her everything that's been going on. About you and Skyler and Helen and the kids," Dominic explained with a look of embarrassment.

"I still miss her, so much," he confessed and Hawke could not deny the look of genuine sorrow and grief that settled on his old friend's familiar face.

"We were together for a lot of years," he hung his head briefly, to draw in another deep breath, then looked up to regard the younger man with eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, utter relief and a little disappointment.

"You really don't remember her?"

Hawke shook his head gently, regretfully, not wanting to hurt the older man, but not inclined to lie either.

He had never been a hypocrite.

Not even to spare Dominic Santini's feelings.

He wasn't going to start now.

"Damn," Santini lowered his head for a moment, and when he looked up again, his face was pale and his eyes filled with sorrow. "The doc, said. He told me something of what you told him. But, I thought, maybe, when you saw me?"

"Me too," Hawke confided.

"I don't understand. You obviously remember _**me**_."

"Yes," Hawke confirmed with a gentle smile.

"But everything else is?"

"Most of what I've been told so far. which, granted, isn't much, but, most of what I've been told is," Hawke paused for a moment, struggling to find the right words. "Different."

"Different?"

"Doesn't relate to _**me.**_"

"Helen? The kids?" Dominic asked hopefully.

Hawke shook his head sadly.

"Oh, kid," Dominic let out another heavy sigh. "I can't imagine how you must be feeling. All of this must seem so, unreal. Fantastic. Unbelievable."

"Tell me about it," Hawke smiled ruefully. He had known that Dominic would understand. "But I guess it has to be just as hard on you. And her."

"Helen. Your wife's name is Helen," Dominic sighed deeply and gave the younger man a pained look.

"Helen." Hawke conceded.

"Yes, she's upset," Dominic confirmed. "She's naturally confused and hurt. But, she's trying to understand."

The look that settled on Dominic's face told Hawke a great deal about the way the older man felt about the young woman who was his daughter in law.

Hawke could see a great deal of love and respect and affection shining in the older man's blue/grey eyes, a comfortable familiarity that spoke of years of love and trust and mutual respect and friendship between the two.

Dominic Santini knew this woman, had known her for a long time, and he cared a great deal for her.

"She's been here, every day for the last four months, String, and every day for six weeks before that at the hospital in the city. Holding your hand, talking to you, willing you to open your eyes, worrying herself crazy and trying to keep it together, being strong for my sake and the kids. Trying to keep things as normal as possible, and suddenly, you're awake, all our prayers are answered, the burden of worry lifted, and finally she allows herself to relax a little, to let her guard down. To believe that things will be all right. That you will live. You will be ok. That she will get back the man that she loves more than life, and that things will go back to the way that they were before. She allowed herself to begin to believe that the future might be brighter, only when she gets here, you don't recognise her and, all of this while she's getting ready to have a baby."

"You really don't remember her either?" Santini regarded his young companion hopefully, but Stringfellow Hawke shook his head gently, and regretfully. "Oh well, you fell in love with her the first time around. You'll fall in love with her again. What's not to love?"

Santini assured, patting the young man's hand reassuringly, then he made a sour face, which made Hawke frown.

"Oh boy! Please, please spare me from the agony of having to go through all _**that**_ again!" Santini groaned expressively.

"All _**what **_again?"

"Having to watch you fall in love all over again. The last time was bad enough! Oy, Maria and I thought we would have a nervous breakdown before it was done!" Santini chuckled at the memory. "On again, off again. Should you, shouldn't you? She loves me, she hates me, she loves me!" He chortled. "It was like being on a roller coaster. Every body but you and Helen knew how you two felt for each other, but you two, stubborn, short sighted as hell. Promise me you won't make me, or her, go through that again?"

"I can't promise you anything, Dom."

"Gee, its gonna be hard getting used to you calling me that again, after all these years," Santini sighed sadly. "But," he grew thoughtful for a moment and his expression softened, as he looked a little more closely into the familiar features of his beloved son. "I wonder why it's only me you remember?"

"I don't know," Hawke sighed deeply and hung his head briefly.

"So? Can you tell me about this other life? Doc Coleman said there were some similarities in what you remember. Mainly in the past. The cabin up at Eagle Lake? That dopey old tick hound, Tet? Fancy you remembering him all these years on. He also said that the rest of what you remember is very, different."

"Yeah, Dom. I don't know what good it will do, going over it again."

"It might help me to understand where you're coming from. Hell, I might even remember some things that might jog your memory," Santini coaxed. "It can't hurt. Maybe there's stuff you didn't mention to the doc that you could talk to me about? We've always been able to talk, son. Always. About anything, and everything. Just because you don't remember it, doesn't make me any less of a father to you than I was yesterday, before you woke up."

Dominic Santini's expression was filled with such love and affection and joy, Hawke knew that he was speaking the truth, and he could not help feeling both touched by it, and bad, that he didn't feel the same way in return.

He loved the old guy.

Sure he did.

But he had never really thought of him as being a real father to him.

Drinking buddy, workmate.

Friend.

Confident.

Always someone he could rely on to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, and to back him up in a scrap.

A friendly ear to bend and an understanding shoulder to cry on.

But, not as a real father.

There was a fine line that he and the Dominic Santini _**he**_ remembered had drawn in their relationship, the boundary over which neither one of them felt able to step.

The limitations which the young Hawke had set, in just how much he was prepared to allow Dominic Santini into his life.

Dominic wasn't his father.

He was a loving and trustworthy friend and guardian, but the privileges of fatherhood remained with and always would remain, with the man that the young Stringfellow Hawke would always call Dad.

His natural father, Steven Hawke.

_**His **_Dominic Santini understood that, not wanting to encroach.

Had understood that the young Stringfellow Hawke's natural inclination was to turn to his older brother, St John, for guidance, and support and strength.

But, it hadn't stopped him from offering fatherly advice and affection over the years.

They were both comfortable with their relationship as it was today.

Each knew just how far they could go with the other.

And it worked.

Hawke didn't know how he would deal with their relationship on a father/son type footing.

He didn't feel comfortable with it.

Yet, he had no desire to hurt or alienate Dominic Santini.

He was the one real thing he could still count on right now.

"What do you remember, son?" Santini prompted now.

And so, taking a deep, calming breath, Stringfellow Hawke recounted all that he knew to be true about _**his**_ life, while Dominic Santini sat quietly on the bed beside him, arms folded across his broad chest, nodding occasionally in response to some detail or another, but making no comment, allowing instead, for the younger man to tell him, everything.

In his own way, in his own time.

Well, _**almost**_ everything.

Hawke decided to withhold a certain detail, feeling sure that his life in _**this**_ incarnation would certainly have no place in it for Airwolf.

And if this _**was**_ some elaborate ruse ….

Just one huge con ….

Maybe revealing that he remembered his involvement with the Firm, and Airwolf would be just what _**they**_, whoever _**they**_ were, wanted.

Maybe that was just what they were waiting for?

Call him paranoid, he thought sarcastically to himself, but he still hadn't discounted the fact that the room could be bugged.

That he could be being watched all the time.

He couldn't afford to let his guard down.

Not until he was sure.

Not until it was proven to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the man that these people claimed him to be, and not the man _**he **_remembered.

"Wow," Santini commented at last, after Hawke had finished speaking and sat watching for his reaction for several minutes, in silence. "That _**is **_different! But, thanks for telling me. I can understand a little better now how completely lost and bemused you must be feeling."

"Yeah," Hawke agreed wryly.

"I still don't understand how you can remember all that stuff so differently to how I remember it. Take your folks, for instance? If you don't find i, too painful, to talk about?"

Hawke shook his head.

The rawness that he had associated with their sudden and very unexpected deaths had long ago healed, to be replaced with regret that they had been granted so little time together, a scant twelve years.

And finally, acceptance that there had been nothing that he could do to save them.

"Now, you say they died in a boating accident up there on the lake when you were twelve? But I _**know**_ they died in a fire, up at the cabin."

"What happened?"

"No mains electricity up there back in those days, and there was one helluva storm suddenly blew up. The generator died, your Dad went out to check on it and in the meantime, a hurricane lantern blew over and …. The place was tinder dry. Steven made sure you and St John and Skyler were safe and then he went back to get your mother. Must have gotten trapped. Fire fighters found them, next morning, in the burned out shell of their bedroom. Holding onto each other. They didn't burn to death. They were overcome by the smoke," Santini let out a ragged sigh, vividly recalling one of the worst nights that he had had to endure in his life.

"You and Sky were eight years old and St John was just twelve. There was never any doubt that Maria and I would take you in, I'd made Steven that promise years before. If anything ever happened to him, I would look after Connie and any kids that might come along. And he did the same for me. During the war. I don't understand why you remember it differently."

"Me neither, but that _**is**_ how _**I **_remember it. Being hauled out of the water by St John and being dragged to the shore. Looking back, to see the boat, and Mom and Dad gone, Sinj and I, half drowned ourselves, shocked and cold, having to walk down the mountain to try to get help. I can't ever go home without thinking about that awful day."

"And yet you say you chose to live up there?"

"Yeah. It's a beautiful place. Peaceful, tranquil. Its home. Always will be. I feel closer to them all up there. Why are you surprised I remember Tet?"

"Because, he's been dead these past twelve years or more. He was St John's dog by rights, just a pup when he shipped out to 'Nam and left you to take care of him, but when he didn't come back," he faltered for a moment, then after taking a slow breath, continued.

"When you got back from 'Nam, you needed something to occupy your mind, and you took it upon yourself to take care of that old mutt again. It was good for both of you. He had lots of energy and playfulness and you needed lots of exercise. Physical therapy, to build up your strength. They did tell you that when you got back from 'Nam, you spent months flat on your back in the hospital, and then in rehab, in a wheelchair? That the doctors believed that you would never walk again?" Hawke shook his head.

This was indeed news to him.

He had had his fair share of scratches and knocks in 'Nam, and the wound that had finally seen his tour of duty over there ended, in 1972, had been serious enough to get him a medical discharge from the Army, but he had been lucky in comparison to some of the other guys he had served with.

He had returned to his home and the people that he loved, with all of his limbs, and his mind, in tact.

"Oh, well, you took a bullet in the back. Right up close to the spine. They thought it had damaged your spinal cord and that you would never be able to walk again. Wanted to leave it there, too. Told us that if they tried to take it out they could cause more damage than just leaving it where it was. That's Army docs for you," Hawke could hear the disgust and contempt in Santini's voice now.

"We didn't accept that. No siree! Only the best for our boy. Maria and I went into hock up to our hairlines to find the best doctors we could and it took us almost two years to raise the cash, but finally we did, and the doctors went in there and fished the bullet out, and finally, when you healed and all the bruising and swelling went down, they said that you would walk, eventually, but it would be a long and painful process. See kid, you beat _**that**_. You can beat this too. Whatever it is."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about St John?" Dominic asked tentatively now. "About how he …. Died?"

"Not right now."

"How about Skyler?"

"My …. Sister …." Hawke tested the word out and found that it still did not taste right on his lips.

"Your _**twin**_ sister," Santini corrected with a wistful expression on his face. "Like two peas in a pod the two of you. Oh maybe not in looks, but definitely in temperament and personality!" He chuckled. "Like dynamite and matches. An explosive combination! Always fireworks with you two. Always scrapping, over something or another. Maria always chasing one or the other of you around the house with a rolling pin because of some mischief you'd cooked up between you!" he chuckled again. "She swore blind that you would either be the death of her, or end up killing each other!"

"Tell me about her."

"Maria or Sky?"

"Both. But, I guess I'm most curious about …. Maria. My Dom has been on his own, all these years. In fact, it wasn't until recently that I found out Dom had been married at all, and that he had a daughter," Hawke confided.

"His wife's name was Lila and they lived on San Remo Island," Hawke's voice trailed away as he suddenly noticed the uncomfortable expression on the older man's face.

"I was born there. And yes, Lila was my first wife," Santini explained on a deep sigh. "Biggest mistake I ever made," he confessed sadly. "Didn't last very long. Ink was barely dry on the marriage certificate and she was entertaining every other guy on the island while I busted my balls to make a living for us."

"I'm sorry."

"Did you say _**your**_ Dominic had a daughter?"

"Yeah," now it was Hawke's turn to grow uncomfortable as Santini watched him expectantly.

"Sally-Anne. She died. From a drugs overdose. I don't know all the details," he added quickly. "Only that he got word that they found her on the beach. I went with my Dom to her funeral, and then, while we were there, someone murdered Lila and tried to pin it on my Dominic."

"Geez! What an exciting life you do live!""

_**You don't know the half of it, my friend..**_ Hawke thought to himself.

"It worked out ok in the end, but my Dom didn't do too well in jail. Cait was marvellous."

"Cait?"

Hawke could not mistake the look of curiosity and the note of suspicion in Santini's voice now.

"Caitlin O'Shannessy. Fiery Texan red head with Irish blood," Hawke grinned then. "Feisty little thing. Used to fly choppers for Texas Highway Patrol, until she came to work for you, my Dom, a few months back," he explained, noting that the suspicion had not gone, but had merely moved to Dominic's eyes.

"Is she your girl? In this alternate life?"

"No, nothing like that. We're work colleagues. Friends. We're like a little family."

Hawke's smile was warm and genuine when he again thought about how close the three of them had become in such a short space of time.

But there was nothing romantic between himself and Caitlin. No matter how many huge and completely unsubtle hints his Dominic dropped.

Maybe, in the beginning, there had been something.

A spark.

But, nothing had come of it.

On either side.

That didn't stop him from keeping a protective eye on her.

Just like a big brother would.

Caitlin had had a parade of gentleman admirers since arriving in Los Angeles and for what it was worth, Stringfellow Hawke was not inclined to get too deeply involved with any woman.

His life was far too complicated.

Not to mention filled with constant threat and danger.

It wasn't so much that he didn't want love and romance in his life, that he didn't need those things as much as any man.

But, with his history, and all the emotional baggage that came with it, he was reluctant to open himself up to still more hurt, heartache and disappointment.

In short, he believed that he was jinxed when it came to love.

Every woman he had ever cared for had left him.

Died.

His mother.

Sarah Jane, his first serious girlfriend, who had died when their car had crashed, just before he shipped out to Vietnam.

And, more recently, Gabrielle.

The first woman in a long time that he had allowed to get close.

Without being conceited, he knew that he was quite an attractive man, and he could have as much female company as he wanted, whenever he wanted.

But his heart was too battered and abused, and he had found it easier to simply encase it in ice.

That way it was either impenetrable, or unbreakable.

He was content.

He wasn't exactly happy, but neither was he unhappy with the situation.

He liked the status quo.

It gave him a chance to concentrate on other things.

Like the Airwolf missions that he flew for Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and the Firm.

However, confronted as he was now, with the possibility that his life in _**this**_ time and place, included a wife, and three children.

It was an intriguing prospect.

He had to admit, if only to himself, feeling just a little envious of Stringfellow Santini.

He was obviously a man who was much loved by his family, had managed to sustain a relationship with a woman who loved him deeply and which had produced three beautiful children.

Four, if you counted the one on the way.

All of which meant exploring relationships that Stringfellow Hawke had thought beyond his reach.

Husband.

Father.

Even that of being a real son, in an adult sense, instead of clinging to memories of childhood.

Now he might be granted a brief taste of the things that he had thought would be denied him.

"_**I'm **_not married," he gently reminded the older man, noting the hint of disapproval in the older man's features. "Nor do I have a regular girlfriend. By choice, Dom," Hawke explained, still feeling awkward about having to explain his personal circumstances. "So, tell me about Maria," he encouraged then. "How long were you together?"

"Some days it seems like forever. And then others, only five minutes," Dominic Santini sighed wistfully. "Let me see. You're what, thirty seven now?"

Santini scratched his head and Hawke could see his brain struggling to make the calculation.

"You were just a baby when we met. So, that would be …. Let me think …. Late summer, 1950. Hell, you weren't even a year old," he grinned then.

"We did some old fashioned dating for a couple of years. Had to wait for that bitch Lila to agree to a divorce before I could even think about offering Maria marriage, and then finally, after making me wait Lord knows how long for an answer, we finally tied the knot in the spring of 1953. So, let me see. We knew each other for thirty seven years and were married for twenty nine," again Hawke could see the sorrow in the older man's eyes.

"Would have been married for thirty four years, this year. She had cancer. Took her so fast none of us could believe it. A month from beginning to end. Five years ago today."

"How did you meet her?"

"I went to visit with a distant cousin of mine. Owns a small vineyard in the Napa Valley down San Francisco way. Unwritten Italian law says that everybody gotta help pick the grapes when they're ready. Just happened to be harvest time, when I was visiting, and there were lots of people around, from the neighbouring farms, all willing to help out. Maria was there, visiting with relatives of her Father, and she was helping her Mamma with the food for all those hungry mouths. Let me tell ya, she was the most beautiful thing on two legs I ever saw …. And laugh! We could laugh at just about anything. So full of life. She loved to dance and sing. Oh she could cry too. Weep more salt water than the Pacific," he smiled gently then.

"She was a wonderful woman, String. Everything that a man could desire in a woman, and I still don't understand what it was that she saw in me. But, she loved me. She made me very happy for a lot of years, and I guess that's how come you decided that Helen was the one for you. That girl's a lot like Maria," he confided gently.

"You and Maria, the two of you, well, you couldn't have been any closer if she'd been your real Mamma. She called you all her babies, and she loved you all …. But, you were always her favourite, String," he paused for a moment.

"She used to say that you were the sensitive one. The other two were tough nuts and would survive nuclear fallout, but you …. You seemed to need her more than the others. You seemed to need to be loved more by her, and to love her more in return. You guys really understood each other, and liked each other."

"I would sit and watch the two of you together, and thank God that if what happened to your parents had to be, that Maria was there to be a mother to all of you children, but especially you. I guess I have to own up to having something of a soft spot for you too," his old cheeks began to suffuse with colour now.

"You were always more my boy. St John was already practically grown. More independent, and Sky being a girl, always seemed to need Maria more than me. But, you and me, we hit it off from the day you were born. From the first time Connie put you in my arms and told me that she and Steven would be honoured and proud if I would consent to become your Godfather. I always wanted a son, and when you were born and you lay there in my arms, so innocent and so trusting as you looked up into my face, I knew that you were going to be the closest to having a son of my own that I would ever get."

"You didn't have any children of your own?"

"No. Never seemed to be able to get the chemistry right. Then, suddenly we had a ready made family of three. Maria took to motherhood like a duck to water, and you kids all accepted her, because we had always been around your folks and their place. You were all used to seeing us. It was the most natural thing, that you come to us. Our brood. Maria was never happier than when she was doing something for you kids. Baking your favourite cookies, patching your torn clothes or sewing some costume for Halloween or Christmas."

"And what about Skyler?"

"Oh boy!" Dominic rolled his eyes heavenward and Stringfellow Hawke found himself frowning. "Talk about a live wire!" Santini chuckled. "Nothing but trouble from dawn till dusk that one. Rough and tumble and fistfights. A real tomboy, but I guess when she had you and St John for brothers, it kinda came with the territory."

Dominic Santini's grin was broad and genuine and filled with love as he paused to take a breath before continuing.

"You two being twins meant that you were always competing with each other over something, always trying to get someone's attention. Me, St John, Maria. Always bickering, always daring each other to do something better than the other. Guess she was just trying to be one of the boys. Trying to fit in. But, you always looked out for each other too. You two were always real close. Thick as thieves, especially as you got older. Got this psychic thing going on between you. One always knew when the other was sick or in trouble. When she had her appendix out, you came out in sympathy with her," Santini chuckled at the memory. "When she was pregnant with her first baby, you were the one who had the morning sickness, and damned if you didn't go into sympathetic labour!" He let out a loud gaffaw.

"She was thousands of miles away in Germany, and you were rolling around in agony on the living room floor. It was Maria who guessed what was happening. Never live that down, son. "

"She grew up to be a real beauty, just like Connie. You're not identical twins but there's no denying a resemblance, you both have the same hair colouring and eyes, the same height and physique. You both have the same fierce determination to win and to succeed. Both fearless."

Dominic Santini grew solemn then and Stringfellow Hawke watched him curiously.

"When you enlisted to go to 'Nam, Sky was right there in the line behind you, and it nearly broke Maria's heart when she was accepted by the Army and was sent away to train with the Medical Corp. You were sent away to boot camp, St John was already over there."

He paused again to take a long, deep breath, and then expelled it slowly.

"And it was Skyler who knew that you were wounded. She called me, to ask if we had heard from you. Told me straight out that she had this really bad feeling that something awful had happened to you. So, I got on the horn to an old buddy of mine in the Army to try to find out, and eventually he called me back, with the dreadful news that St John had been killed in action, and that you had been badly wounded, in the same action, and that once they had your condition stabilized they would be shipping you home, with St John's body. Sky volunteered to go over there and escort you back, but the Army refused, giving her compassionate leave to come home to us instead. Waiting for you two boys to come home was the longest two weeks of our lives."

"She sends you her love, by the way," Santini added then. "I called her to tell her that you were out of danger, but guess what? She already knew, said she'd had this weird feeling for a couple of days, thinking about you, dreaming about you. Told me that she had woken up crying in the middle of the night, and when Mat, that's her husband, when Mat asked her, what was wrong, she told him that she _**knew**_ that you were going to come back to us. That she knew that you were going to be all right."

Stringfellow Hawke did not know what to say, so he wisely kept silent and watched the older man smile ruefully.

"It's good to have you back, son," Dominic Santini patted his hand affectionately once more. "You kept us waiting long enough," he let out a ragged sigh then. "I hope your dreams were pleasant."

"I don't remember having any dreams."

"Good. Wouldn't want those awful nightmare, of 'Nam to come back."

"No." Hawke agreed.

There were times when he was still plagued with nightmares. Mostly about having to leave St John behind, all those years ago.

Despite the fact that he could not have done anything any differently.

"You get them too?"

"Now and again."

"So? Should I tell you a little about Helen?" Santini wisely changed the subject.

"Why not."

"Look son, if you'd rather not, if you'd rather find out about her for yourself, I understand." Santini grew unexpectedly coy then.

"No, Dom. You'd better tell me something. I wouldn't want to upset her, unnecessarily. Next time we meet."

"What did you think? When you saw her? Beautiful, isn't she?" Dominic Santini's smile was warm and genuine and full of love and pride. "And she's a wonderful wife and mother. Look son, maybe you should just find out for yourself," Santini's expression grew solemn then.

"Whatever I say will just be words. Like all the rest of it. I know none of it has meant anything to you. Just words. You haven't _**felt **_any of it, I can tell. "

"I'm sorry, Dom," Hawke knew that the older man was right.

No matter how much feeling Dominic put into it, it meant nothing to him on an emotional level.

The people he had talked about were still strangers to him.

The life he had described belonged to another man.

"So talk to her. Ask _**her**_ about how you met and how you fell in love. She knows those things better than me. You never know, it might help to jog your memory, and if not, well, it might just help start the process of falling in love with her all over again."

"Dom."

"She's your wife, String. I've never interfered in your relationship with Helen, and I won't start now. Remember it or not, she's your wife, and you can't ignore the fact. You made certain promises, certain commitments when you went into this marriage, String, and I know that the boy _**I **_have raised as my son wouldn't walk away from those commitments," Santini pinned him with a meaningful look then.

"The man _**we**_ all know, and love, loves that woman and those children with all his heart and soul. Lord knows he endured more than his fair share of heart ache and heartbreak before he finally found her, and learned to accept that he was just as loveable as any other man, and that he deserved to be loved just as much as any other man. And believe me, son, you _**are**_ loved. No man on this earth could be loved more, by Helen and those children. You owe it to yourself to find out all over again how it feels to be that well loved. You might learn something."

"Dom, I …."

"Ok. Enough already. I've maybe said to much already. Doc Coleman told me that you should be trying to remember all of this stuff by yourself. I just hope that what I have told you will help to get the ball rolling."

"Thanks, Dom. There's just one more thing."

"What's that, son?"

"What put me here?"

"What did the doc tell you?"

Santini grew cautious now and Hawke deduced that he had been told not to touch too deeply on the cause of the coma that had put his son in the hospital.

"Just that I was in a plane crash."

"That's right."

"Dom, there has to be more to it than that."

"Son , I can't," Santini looked genuinely uncomfortable now.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't. The FAA are going to be all over you like a rash when they hear that you're awake. You have to tell them what _**you**_ remember, not what you've been _**told,**_ by other people."

"The FAA?"

"Air Crash Investigation Team. They were at the hospital in LA, at the very beginning, but when it became clear that you were not going to wake up any time soon."

"What the hell happened, Dominic? Level with me. You're the only one I can trust who will," Hawke glared at Santini, but despite the look, the older man refused to impart any more information.

"Oh God, Dom …. What did I do? Did I kill a lot of people?" Hawke's heart suddenly came up into the back of his throat as he realised that something very serious had transpired to put him in the hospital.

"No, Son. Nothing like that," Santini reassured him quickly now, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Quite the opposite, in fact. Thanks to you, over two hundred people walked away from that crash. Because of your courage and endurance and determination."

"Please, Dom. You _**have**_ to tell me."

"All right son."

Santini let out a deep sigh, noting the confusion and alarm in the younger man's deep blue eyes, and he knew that he could not leave him to stew on only that small piece of information.

"You were the Captain of a jet airliner, on route from Japan to Los Angeles. Two hundred and five souls aboard including crew. Somewhere over the Pacific, a freak storm blew up out of nowhere and the plane was hit by lightning. You lost one engine straight away and recurring fire in the others meant that you had to nurse her all the way back to LAX. Your landing gear wouldn't engage and it became clear that you couldn't land on the runway. You overshot and nursed her out over the city and finally came down in the desert. Thus saving hundreds of lives on the ground, too. There was one death, your co-pilot, and several serious injuries, yourself included. But, more than two hundred other souls walked away with nothing more than scratches and bruises. More than two hundred people, who owe _**you**_ their lives. The papers called you a hero. Those of us who love you and know you, always knew you were a hero, son."

"Maybe I just got lucky," Hawke looked away then, unable to take credit for something he knew that he had not done.

"Don't you worry about the FAA thing. It's routine. But, you were the senior pilot and they have to have your version of events for their report."

"I can't tell them anything, Dom. How can I? I wasn't there."

"Don't tell them _**that**_, son, else they'll be sending in the headshrinkers!" Dominic tried to make a joke of it, but there was still anxiety and uncertainty in his eyes. "Better you tell them you just don't remember. It's not a lie, exactly. They're not looking to blame anyone, String. They have already determined the cause of the accident, and you were completely exonerated," Santini assured then. "They just have to hear from you what happened. For the record. If you can't remember, you can't remember," he let out a soft sigh then and slipped carefully off the bed.

"An airliner?"

"Yeah. You're the company's chief pilot, son. Have been, these last four years. You worked damned hard to get there, String, and we are all so proud of your achievement."

"I fly helicopters and small aircraft, Dom, not passenger jets."

"Son, you can fly just about anything. If they put engines on orange crates you'd get 'em off the ground and safely back down again," Santini chuckled.

"It's what you did after the Army. Test pilot, for various manufacturers. You were the best in the business. Best damned test pilot outside of the Military and NASA. Scared me, and Maria out of our wits especially after all you went through to walk again after 'Nam, but you thrived on it. Got a reputation for being the best. It wasn't that you took risks or were a dare devil. You just seemed to have a feel for it. You are a natural born flier. Knew it the first time I took you up there when you were nine. You loved it. Fearless. But, then you met up with Helen again, and when you two started to get serious, you decided to take a different direction, and so you joined the airline and worked your way up through the ranks to senior pilot."

"I did some testing too," amongst other things, Hawke thought silently to himself, including working as a mercenary, so that he could find out more about what had happened to St John.

It wasn't something that he was proud of, but he had done anything and everything that he had had to do to find out the tiniest scrap of information.

"Now I fly stunts," he grinned then. "TV. Movies. Sometimes, and other times I work for the government, taking aerial photographs. Some scientific stuff. Weather observations, that kind of thing. Monitoring volcanic activity. It's a living."

"Yeah. Well, we all have to do what we have to do to earn a crust," Santini agreed.

"Guess I just love to fly. I'm happy when I'm flying. When I'm up there," Hawke sighed deeply then.

"And what makes you happy when you're not flying? When you're not up there?"

"Fishing, up at the lake. Playing my cello."

"What?" Santini choked out.

"Playing my cello. And listening to classical music."

"Oh boy," Santini chuckled. "Since when? Now that really _**is **_different. You love an altogether different kind of water sport. Surfin'! You were a real California Beach Bum in your teens. And music, well, if it didn't get released in the 60's you didn't want to know! Elvis Presley, Beach Boys, Mammas and Papas, Gene Pitney, Roy Orbison. Everything except, The Beatles. I had the only teenager in the neighbourhood who hated the Beatles," Santini rolled his eyes heavenward. "And he had the twin sister from hell, who would play 'She Loves Me Yeah Yeah Yeah' over and over until the needle stuck!"

Hawke smiled, but then found himself needing to stifle a yawn, and Santini could not help noticing that he was looking weary.

"Anyway, I'd better let you get some rest else Doc Coleman won't let me back in again. Plum forgot you've only been back with us for a few hours," he grew hesitant for a moment, and then decided to say what was on his mind.

"Look son, about Helen? The doc told her that it would be better if she and the kids stayed away. But, what do _**you **_say? You ain't gonna get to remembering her if you don't see her. Can I tell her that she can pay you a visit? Sometime soon?"

Stringfellow Hawke knew that if he were really Stringfellow Santini, what Dominic had just suggested would make sense. The sooner the couple spent time in each other's company the sooner they would break the ice and begin to get used to being around each other.

But ….

He wasn't Stringfellow Santini.

And Helen Santini was not his wife.

He had no desire to hurt her feelings.

But he also had no desire to build up her hopes that they might get back to the romantic, lovey dovey kind of relationship that Santini had hinted existed between the couple.

He couldn't give her what she needed.

He couldn't be the man that she remembered.

What if she grew to rely on him?

Besides, for his own sake, he couldn't afford to get involved with her.

What if he liked her?

What if he found her as irresistible as Stringfellow Santini obviously did?

What if ….

What if he allowed himself to have feelings for her? For the children?

He didn't know what to say.

And while he hesitated, he could see the disappointment in Dominic Santini's blue/grey eyes and knew that he had let him down.

"I guess I have my answer."

"Dom."

"I understand, son. It's a lot to take in. Maybe when you've had a couple of days to stew on it?"

"Yeah. Maybe. Will you be seeing her?"

"Yeah, she invited me over to dinner tonight. After visiting time here, but the doc said he was ordering up some more tests so, maybe we'd better leave you alone to get your rest, and to try to get your head on straight."

"What will you tell her?"

"The truth. She'll understand. She don't have to like it, but she will understand."

"Dom, I'm sorry."

"You just concentrate on getting well. The people who love you will all still love you, and be here for you when you finally do remember us."

And with that the older man leaned forward and gave Hawke a strong embrace, then hitching his pants up as he went, he walked across the room and out into the corridor beyond.


	4. Chapter 4

"Honey," Dominic Santini sat back from the kitchen table with a deep, contented sigh, feeling replete. After the ritual of baths and bedtime stories, and finally getting the kids settled, Helen Santini had provided a sumptuous meal of Minestrone soup, followed by chicken and plump mushrooms in a rich tomato and basil sauce served with a selection of vegetables and baby potatoes and finished it off with his absolute favourite, Tiramisu, a rich, Italian sherry trifle.

Dominic had eaten with relish, but he had not been able to ignore the fact that she only pushed her food around her plates, taking just the odd bite now and again.

"Your cooking don't get any worse!" he grinned, patting his large belly with one hand and reaching out to take a sip of the red wine she had poured out for him with the other.

"Thank you. It's always nice to have someone who appreciates my efforts," she smiled tiredly at him, pushing her own plate of barely touched food away from her and reaching out to a mug of coffee.

"How did it go today? At the doctor's office?" he asked gently now, watching her with a practised eye and was pleased at the smile that curled at her lips.

"Fine. My blood pressure was up a little, but once I explained about String …. He was a little concerned about the weight gain …."

"What weight gain?" Santini scoffed.

"Exactly," She sighed regretfully. "I was like a beached whale with the others, but this time. Still, he says the baby is fine, the head is engaged, and it could be action stations any day now."

"Oh boy …."

"I hope you've been practising your breathing exercises," she grinned playfully at him then.

"No, but I've been practising my getting into a panic over whether or not I've got your clothes in the car, and how long it will take to drive you to the hospital!" he chuckled then. "So, how come you ain't asked me how it went with String?"

"I knew you would get around to it, once you'd finished feeding your face," she laughed softly then. "Well?"

"Well," Santini let out a deep sigh then and took another sip of his wine. Helen reached out for the bottle to top up his glass but he put his hand over the top of it. "I'm driving, remember?"

"That old couch has your name written all over it, Papa Dominic. You know I always find it hard to throw you out."

"But my back would never forgive me. My days of sleeping over on couches are long gone, sweetheart. Anyway, where was I?"

"You were going to tell me how it went with String."

"Oh yeah. Well, that was a completely novel experience," he sighed again now and scratched absently at his ear.

"How do you mean?" She regarded him with curiosity, and more than a hint of concern, her head tilted slightly to one side.

"Well, he looks like String, and he sounds like String, but, oh boy!"

"He is all right, isn't he?"

Dominic Santini could instantly see the anxiety in her lovely green eyes and his heart went out to her.

"I mean, it is just something to do with the coma, remnants of dreams? After effects of the drugs? Isn't it, Papa Dominic?" There was a crack in her voice now but she tried to hide it by taking another sip of her coffee.

"I don't know honey, I ain't no doctor. But, seems to me, _**he believes it**_. To him it's very real, and there ain't no two ways about it. He _**don't**_ remember much at all about _**this**_ life, but the other life is _**very real**_ to him. I guess 'cos it's still so fresh in his mind."

"Other life? What other life?" Helen Santini frowned now.

"Oh gee honey, I forgot, I didn't get around to telling you yet. Well, he believes that he is a guy called Stringfellow Hawke, and that he is single and lives in LA and flies stunts for movies and TV," Santini elaborated. "That's it in a nutshell. There's more to it, but it would take me all night to unravel it."

"Oh God!" She let out a soft moan of anguish then. "I told you he didn't remember us."

"Honey, he don't remember a whole heap of stuff. Maria, Sky. It's not just you and the kid. He don't remember St John dying, or being stuck in that god-awful wheelchair for months before and after the surgery. He don't even remember the day we adopted them, kept calling me Dom. Just once I would have liked to hear him call me Dad again. I've missed that."

"Oh Dom," she reached out and laid her hand on top of his now. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, but one thing is for sure, we ain't gonna let him stew in this fantasy world he's in right now. The sooner he learns that _**this**_ is what his real life is about, the sooner he can get back to living it."

"What if this other life is something that his mind has come up with, because he simply can't face the truth? His life, with us? Maybe this other life is what he has been wishing his life were really like all along."

"Bulldust!"

"But we can't _**make**_ him remember. We can't _**make**_ him believe. "

"Why not? When we take him home, back to the house in Malibu, all he has to do is look around him. _**That**_ is his world. _**That**_ is where he will find his life, his home and his family, everything he needs to help him remember."

"And what if he never remembers?"

"Don't even think about it."

"I can't help it, Dom. It's not just his life anymore. It's mine and the children's too. If he's denying all of us," her voice trailed away then, and he could see the tears welling up in her green eyes. "If he denies any memory of us, Dominic, then there is no future."

"It won't come to that. You have to give him time. He's been to hell and back, twice now."

"Maybe his mind is just not allowing him to remember because it's just too painful?" she ventured then, trying to appear more positive.

Dominic was so relieved that his son was back. So happy and so up, she had no desire to dent that joy for him with her own fears and worries.

"Maybe the implication of the crash …. All those lives he held in his hand. Maybe having to feel anything right now is just too big an ask? After everything he must have been feeling when that plane hit the ground, maybe it's just too big for him to comprehend right now?"

"That's what Doc Coleman said, but if you ask me, he's just blowing smoke," Dominic sighed deeply and reached out across the table to pat her hand gently.

"Coleman's a quack, but sometimes he makes a little sense," Helen Santini smiled softly back at him.

"Anyway, I'm sure the docs will want to get to the bottom of it too. Coleman was already talking about a whole barrage of tests," Santini informed gently, and then noticed the expression on his daughter in law's face.

"Now don't look like that, honey, I know you're worried about the expense, but there's no need. All of his medical bills are taken care of by the Pilots Association." Santini assured. "Hang the damned expense anyway, getting him well, getting him back, whole, that's the most important thing. I'll sell my soul to the Devil himself if necessary, so you just stop worrying your pretty little head about things like money. You've got other things to think about. Like, that little bundle of joy you will soon hold in your arms. Got a name yet?"

"Yeah," she smiled secretively then.

"Oh I see. Wanna keep it to yourself?"

"Well it rather depends on whether it's a boy or a girl. I hardly think you want your new grandson to be named Angelina now, would you?"

Dominic Santini spluttered on the sip of wine he had taken and laughed out loud.

It was good to see that she hadn't lost her sense of humour.

"I thought you and String agreed no Italian names, and no weird names either. He had enough of growing up with being teased over his name, the fights he got into over it because some bigger kid thought it was funny, and I know how much he hated the idea of his own kids having to go through that."

"Don't worry, Dominic, I've decided on something very sensible, and hopefully something that String will approve of," she grew thoughtful for a moment and then after taking a soft breath, fixed Dominic Santini with hopeful eyes. "Did he ask about, me?"

"Yeah," Santini lied, but the slight hesitation in his voice was enough for Helen Santini to pick up on.

"Bless you, Dom, but, he didn't, did he?"

"Kinda."

"Oh?"

"Well, I was telling him a little about Maria and Skyler, and when I asked if he wanted to know about you, he said I'd better tell him something, so that the next time he saw you, he didn't hurt you unnecessarily."

"Oh."

"But then I decided it was probably better if the two of you just sat down together and got to know each other all over again. Might be the best way for him to remember how and why he fell in love with you in the first place."

"And fall in love with me all over again?"

"Yeah," Santini grinned.

"You soppy old romantic, but, what if he doesn't?"

"Huh?"

"What if he doesn't remember? What if he doesn't fall in love with me all over again, Dom? Where does that leave me and the kids?"

"It ain't gonna happen, love. That boy loves you, you know that. _**You know it. **_Once he gets home and things start getting back to normal around him, he'll remember it too. He'll know it and believe it. It's gonna be all right, sweetheart."

She nodded then, to please him, but deep in her heart, Helen Santini was not so sure.

_**Friday – Late afternoon.**_

"Hello Stringfellow," Dr Don Walker briefly cast his eyes down to the patient's notes to check that he had the right case and the right patient, and then flicked his gaze back to the young man sitting propped up by several fat pillows in the bed in front of him. "It _**is**_ Stringfellow, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'm Donald Walker," the man extended his hand out to Hawke, who shook it briefly and then regarded him with interest.

"You must be the head shrinker," Hawke regarded him back. The newcomer was fairly tall, six feet or just a little shy, with pleasant open features, a calm expression, and steady brown eyes. Hawke estimated his age to be somewhere close to his own.

"The what?" Walker tilted his head slightly to one side, birdlike.

"The psychiatrist," Hawke sighed deeply.

"How do you work that out?" Walker's tone of voice remained evenly modulated as he raised one eyebrow in curiosity.

"Well now, let me see," Hawke sighed deeply, raising his eyes to the ceiling briefly. "There's been a parade of folks in here all day, from different departments, or else I've been wheeled down to see them in their departments, so that they could play with their toys. Physical therapy, X-Ray and imaging, pathology. Seems like the only other departments left are maternity, psychiatry or the mortuary. I don't appear to qualify for the other two. At least not just yet."

"You have a good sense of humour, Mr Santini," Walker glanced down at the patient's notes once more only to find him scowling at him when he looked back. "That's a good sign," his voice trailed away. "Ah yes," he added at last. "I see from the brief notes made by my colleague that you don't believe that you _**are**_ Stringfellow Santini."

The doctor made him self comfortable then, perched on one leg on the side of the bed and, expression neutral, regarded Stringfellow Hawke.

"So, what would you prefer I call you?"

"Hawke. Hawke will do just fine."

"Fine. Hawke it is then," Walker agreed, and Hawke got the distinct impression that he was merely humouring him. "The notes describe quite a marked difference in what you remember, and what is actually so."

"According to you."

"Well, there is certainly enough documented evidence to back up the Stringfellow Santini identity. Nothing, on the other hand, to prove that a man named Stringfellow Hawke even exists. Everything I could find indicates that he ceased to exist at the age of ten, when he was adopted and took the name Stringfellow Santini," the doctor smiled benignly at him.

"What? You think I made him up?"

"Tell me why you would have a need to make him up?" Walker asked in that calm, even voice again.

"Oh terrific, doc! You think that I'm a crazy person who has invented another personality because I can't face the reality of my life?" Hawke sneered.

"That would be a fair assessment. If, indeed, _**you**_ were the psychiatrist, and _**not I**_."

"Doc, where did you do your training? The Acme school of psychiatry? Look, I don't understand it any better than you do. I just _**know**_ what I _**know!**_"

"That's it? There is no other side to the coin? No other perspective? Everyone else is wrong and you are right?" Walker queried. "So what would you have me believe? That you have fallen out of the sky from a different universe? A different plain of reality?"

"Well, I did fall out of the sky. Or so they tell me," Hawke quipped.

"Read much science fiction?"

"Hardly ever," Hawke countered.

"Yes. All right, Hawke," Walker sighed softly and regarded Hawke with a steady gaze. "I didn't mean to make you confrontational. Say we start at the beginning, and you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up and discovered that you weren't who you thought you were."

"Do me a favour doc, and go to hell!" Hawke snarled. "I don't think we are going to get anywhere, do you? You don't want to try to believe _**me**_, and I can't believe anything that _**you**_ think is true about me. I'd call that an impasse, wouldn't you?"

"Anger is good, Hawke. Why are you angry?"

"Oh, go to hell!"

"Take it easy," the doctor spoke soothingly. "It's not a case of not _**wanting**_ to believe you. I'm not your enemy, Hawke. I'm here to try to help you. To try to help you figure this out."

"I _**am not**_ crazy!"

"No, Hawke, I don't believe that you're crazy either."

The doctor's calm response in the face of his anger immediately disarmed Hawke.

"Then what the hell is wrong with me?" Hawke asked then, the angry words he had been preparing to launch at the other man melting from his lips.

"That's what I'm here to try to find out. I need to know what you remember, and just how vivid these memories are. That might help me to understand why _**they**_ are so real to you, and yet you seem to have forgotten everything about your _**real**_ life."

"Doc, you don't know how much I would love for this to be real. True. To find that I have a beautiful wife and three wonderful kids, a baby on the way and a father who adores me, but, I _**know**_ it isn't so, and nothing that you or anyone else can say or do will _**make**_ it so."

"What are you running from Hawke? What are you hiding from?"

"Nothing."

"It is my belief that there is something in your life that you find too painful to confront at this time. So, to fill the void left by the loss of the real life memories, your mind has created this alternate existence. Where you have no fears, and no responsibilities, and no emotional ties."

"Doc, shove it!"

"Hey, I'm only theorizing here."

"It's not helping," Hawke sighed deeply, and this drew a genuinely warm smile from the other man.

"When I came in here and you figured out I was the head doctor, you were up for a fight even before you knew what I was going to say. Have you had dealings with psychiatrists before?"

"Yeah. After Vietnam."

"That would be as Hawke, not Santini?"

"That's right."

"But Stringfellow Santini also received counselling. To help him adjust to the possibility that he might never walk again, and to help him to come to terms with the death of his brother."

"Yeah, well, me too. I was having chronic nightmares about St John. The doctors at the VA wouldn't let me out until I agreed to see a shrink. It didn't help."

"Well, times have changed. We in the field of psychiatry have moved on just a little," the doctor smiled softly.

"I want to help you to get to the bottom of this too, Hawke. I'm not interested in trying to prove that you are loco and should be shut away from the world for the rest of your life. What I have seen of you so far, my friend, you seem to be perfectly sane and rational. But, there is something not right up here," he tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

"Something has become disconnected. Unglued. A loose connection. If we work together, maybe we can get it fixed. Reconnected. Maybe it will all just go away by its self, or maybe we just need to talk it through and think about it rationally. Are you prepared to trust me? Work with me? Do you want to get your life back?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I would hope so. You have so much to look forward to …. Think about that new life your wife is carrying. You can't tell me that you don't want a chance to get to know him or her? And your lovely wife? You can't tell me that you don't want a chance to get to know her again?"

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a stranger. I'm _**not**_ the man she is married to, and I can't be that man. I can't be what she wants. Or needs."

"Maybe not right now, perhaps, but, there is nothing to say that you can't become that man again. That you can't have back all the wonderful things you had before this terrible accident."

"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh of submission.

The doctor was obviously hung up on this theory that his mind was trying to protect him from something that it simply couldn't face in this reality, and for now, Hawke sensed that it was probably better all around if he went along with him.

His main priority now was getting out of this damned hospital room.

Getting his strength back, so that he could get out there into the world and do some snooping around of his own, find out for himself what was real and what was not, and to do that he had to go along with this charade.

He had to get out of this room and find out for himself if the people and the places he remembered were real or not.

"Will you work with me?"

"Hell, why not? Worst thing that can happen is that I spend the rest of my natural life in a padded cell, right?"

"Good. Good. As I said humour is a good thing, Hawke. One more thing I need to ask, and I hope you won't go off at the deep end, but, do you recall if you and Helen were having any problems? Before the accident?"

"How should I know? I'm _**not**_ her husband," Hawke sighed deeply. "Maybe you'd better ask her. Oh, I see," Hawke's eyes narrowed now as he realised what the doctor was hinting at. "You're wondering if I have been maybe sneaking around behind her back and this is all down to a guilty conscience because I have been cheating on my wife?"

"Well, it is a possible theory."

"Can't help you," Hawke sighed softly. "But I know _**I'm**_ not _**that **_kind of guy!"

"Neither is Stringfellow Santini. To the best of my knowledge. All right, it's just that you indicated that you felt that it would be unfair to get too close to her, because you can't be the man that she needs or wants you to be. It made me wonder if that was how Stringfellow Santini might have felt before the accident?" Walker explained his reasoning behind the question.

"Everyone expects the woman to feel stressed out and emotional about the arrival of a new baby into the family, and they forget that Dad has feelings too. Stressing, about another hungry mouth to feed, another new little person to get to know, sleepless nights, medical bills, school fees. They are all small things within themselves, but throw them into the mix with a responsible, dangerous and complicated job and all the expectations that go along with that. You wouldn't have been the first man to have gotten depressed, and there isn't any shame in admitting it."

Stringfellow Hawke remained silent and sullen, and the doctor closed his eyes briefly and let out a deep sigh.

"All right, lets move along. Now, why don't you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up?"

"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh.

If it meant that he could get out of this place some time soon, he did not see why he should not play along with the guy.

Just for a while.

"The last date I remember is, July 11th, 1986. Dom, my Dom. had it marked in red on the office calendar. It was the day that I was due to have my physical to renew my pilot's licence."

"That's good," the doctor glanced up from his patient's notes and smiled gently back at Hawke. "That appears to be a consistent memory. You told Dr Coleman the same thing."

"I know that," Hawke sighed in frustration.

"What else do you remember?"

"People mostly."

"Which people?"

"Well, Dom of course …"

"Why of course?" The doctor challenged then.

"Because, for as far back as I can remember, Dominic Santini was always there. He and my father flew combat in the Second World War, and they were best buddies after that. Dom was always at the cabin. My parents would have him around for dinner week day nights, and lunch at weekends. He was just always there. My most dominant memory, of growing up. A ready made Uncle who was always willing to show me how to do the things I wanted to learn," Hawke smiled at the memory and watched the doctor nodding sagely.

"Anyone else?"

"St John, of course, he may be missing in action, but he's never very far from my thoughts and my memories," Hawke sighed sadly before continuing. "And Cait. Caitlin O'Shannessy. She's only been around for a few months. She joined Santini Air, that's Dom's Air Service, a few months ago, but before that, she flew helicopters for the Texas Highway Patrol in a place called Pope County. That's it really, look Doc, I'm a pretty solitary kind of guy. I live quietly and alone with my dog, Tet. I like to fish and to fly, and if I'm honest, I don't get out much, by choice. It doesn't mean that I am anti social, I just prefer my own company. When I'm working with movie or TV people, it often means a very early start, so all I want to do when I'm done is go home and sleep."

"All right, I guess that's enough personal stuff to be going on with. Tell me about the world in which Hawke lives," he noticed Hawke frowning at him then. "For instance, who is the President of the United States?"

"Ronald Reagan."

"Okaaaay, and who is the Russian Premier?"

"Some guy with a name I can't pronounce that sounds a bit like Gobachef …. Mikhail Gorbochev," Hawke struggled with the pronunciation and smiled apologetically.

"And who is the Prime Minister of Great Britain?"

"That would be the Iron Lady. Margaret Thatcher."

"All right," the doctor let out a deep sigh.

"So how did I do?"

"Actually, the President is a man called Tom Fleming. The Russian's don't have a Premier any more because the whole place went to hell in a handcart, after the Berlin wall came down a couple of years ago and we imposed nuclear disarmament. Pretty soon the whole country split into factions. All the old republics, with all the old grudges and hatreds. Pretty soon it descended into civil war. No time any more to be enemies with good ole Uncle Sam and the US of A. All the latest reports outta there indicate that the Mafia are the ones who are really in control. Go figure," he shrugged absently then. "And the Prime Minister of Great Britain is a man called John Smith."

"What?"

"Indeed."

"Look doc, I'm not making this stuff up," Hawke defended. "I read the papers and watch the TV news like every other regular guy, and while I don't buy into politics, I do like to know who is who and what is going on in the world."

"So tell me what else you remember is going on in your world? Major events? Say in the last four or five years, if you can recall," the doctor coaxed.

"Ok. The Russians got all bent out of shape and invaded Afghanistan. That was back in 1980. Screwed up America's chances in the Moscow Olympics that year, when our athletes boycotted the games. The Brits just got into a war with the Argentineans over a bunch of islands in the South Atlantic. The Falklands, that was a couple of years back, 1982. LA just hosted the summer Olympics. July, 1984 …."

"What about things further back in history?"

"The US involvement in the Vietnam war, 1965 thru 73, I was there, did three tours of duty between '69 and 72 …. Finally ended in April 1975. The Apollo space programme, Neil Armstrong, first man to walk on the moon, July 20th, 1969. US President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, assassinated in Dallas, Texas, November, 1963. Doc?"

"And beyond that?"

"The Korean War, June 1950 to July 1953. World War 2, 1939 to '45, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, 7th December, 1941. D Day, Normandy landings into occupied Europe, 6th June, 1944 …."

"Sorry, could I just check your date of birth …."

"January 5th 1950. Doc, is there really any point to all of this?"

"More than you realise, Hawke, your memory of historical events is quite accurate. Although, your memory of the actual _**dates**_ differs slightly, and there are a couple of events in there that, frankly, I never heard of but …."

"Ah, man, Doc, if this is your idea of helping," Hawke moaned expressively.

"I am finding it most helpful, Hawke," The doctor smiled softly at him again. "The very fact that you do remember so many factual things tells me that there are no holes in your memory, that we are not talking selective amnesia here …." Walker explained patiently.

"It's not just your family that you don't recall, but names and dates and events that cannot have been altered by your simply having a knock on the head and being pumped full of drugs for the last four months. You see, I'm getting a complete picture of the way you are looking at things, your point of view. It will help me to make a diagnosis and determine the best way to help you through it."

"I'm _**not**_ crazy doc," Hawke reiterated.

"I know that. You are perfectly calm and rational, and these things seem perfectly real and reasonable to you. I don't understand it and I confess I have no idea why. I've never come across this kind of thing before, but, I have every confidence that it will prove to be temporary. The mind is a marvellous thing, Hawke. Sometimes if we leave it well enough alone for long enough, it finds a way to cleanse and heal its self," Dr Walker paused to take a breath then, scratching absently at his ear with his index finger.

"You're body has been through a lot recently, your physical injuries were not life threatening, as such, but they were substantial, and you were given quite high doses of morphine and other analgesic medications. Your mind has not yet had a chance to come to terms with all of that trauma, because you were unconscious for so long. But it will eventually need to deal with it. You may even experience phantom pain," he pointed out calmly.

"What were my other injuries? Level with me, doc, please."

"Well now, let me see. Fractured ribs, dislocated pelvis, cracked vertebrae in your neck. Fractured skull. All of which healed perfectly, while you just lay there sleeping. They'll probably want you to continue with the physical therapy for a while, get the strength back in your limbs and muscles, but as far as I can see you are in perfectly good physical health. Look, String …. Hawke, I just had an idea. There is one way to settle this. However," He paused for a moment. "I'm really not sure how ready you are to face the truth."

"I'm ready. Truth about what?"

"The truth about who _**you**_ are of course. Your true identity. There is a way to prove to you beyond any reasonable doubt that you are Stringfellow Santini."

"Then go ahead."

"Are you sure? Do you _**really**_ want to know?"

"Of course I do!"

"All right. Can you stand up for me?"

"Sure. Legs are a bit wobbly, but sure, I can do that."

"Good. I won't be a moment …."

The doctor set down the file and slid off the bed, leaving the room for a moment to return with two mirrors, one, full length, on a stand, the other a smaller hand held mirror, he positioned the full length mirror beside the bed, adjusting it until he was satisfied, and all the time Hawke frowned at him.

"Ok, I guess I'm ready for you."

"Ready for what?"

"To give you the proof. Now, you are aware that Stringfellow Santini took a bullet in the back in Vietnam?" Hawke nodded, recalling what Dominic Santini had told him the evening before. "That he was confined to a wheelchair for several months and then had surgery to remove the bullet?" again Hawke nodded. "Well," the doctor let his voice trail away and watched as comprehension began to dawn in Hawke's blue eyes.

"He would have a scar!" Hawke worked out. "But _**I**_ don't. Stringfellow _**Hawke**_ doesn't. _**I **_caught a round in the shoulder, not the back."

"Yes. Exactly. Now, Santini's scar would be almost twenty years old, and I can assure you that none of the injuries sustained in the plane crash would have affected that, so no fresh scar tissue. If I can show you that you do indeed have an old scar, half way down your back and slightly to the left of your spine, are you prepared to accept the possibility that you are indeed Stringfellow Santini and not Stringfellow Hawke?"

Hawke suddenly had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

A feeling of certainty, that the man would not be offering to show him this scar, if he did not know for certain that he would find it there.

But Hawke knew that _**he**_ did not have such a scar ….

Was that something that could be faked?

"You seem a little, sceptical? Suspicious?" Donald Walker regarded him curiously. "Are you worried that it is some kind of trick? Oh Hawke, why would anyone want to go to so much trouble? What would be the point? But, If you've changed your mind, if you're not ready to face it yet?"

"No, I, er, I, dammit, just get on with it," Hawke spoke defiantly and struggled to get out of the tangle of bedclothes and place his bare feet on the cool tiled floor.

"Ok?"

"Ok."

The doctor reached out for the bottom hem of Hawke's pyjama top and carefully began to lift it with one hand, whilst holding the other mirror strategically over Hawke's shoulder so that he had a clear view of his own back in the full length mirror.

As the pyjama top began to rise, Hawke could clearly see the bones of his spine protruding.

And there it was. Just as the doctor had described it.

An ugly weaving line, puckered and faded to almost a cream colour, standing out against the tan of the rest of his back, about half way and slightly to the left of his spine ….

He could even still see the scarring left by the original bullet hole, long healed now.

Before he could stop himself, Hawke was reaching out around his back to press his fingers against the lumps and indentations of the old scar tissue.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, ragged sigh, slumping forward to lean on shaking arms, against the bed mattress, as he realised that it was indeed real.

No pain, but real lumps and bumps, hard, solid, tangible ….

He'd seen enough scars to know what was real and what was not.

This was real.

Not faked.

Not make up or some kind of clever prosthetic conjured up by the make up department of some movie studio.

_**It was real.**_

And it hadn't been there yesterday ….

Had it?

_**Oh God …**_

_**Did that mean that he really was Stringfellow Santini after all?**_

_**Oh God ….**_

"Are you all right, Stringfellow?"

Donald Walker placed a gentle, reassuring hand against his shoulder as Hawke stood, leaning against the bed for support, head bent and shoulders slumped, breath coming in short, sharp gasps, arms shaking and eyes filling with unexpected tears.

"Easy, easy, let's get you back in to bed."

"No, I'm ok. Really," Hawke drew in a deep, ragged breath and lifted his head.

"You'd better do it all the same, or Coleman will skin me alive."

The doctor grinned then and Hawke nodded in submission, allowing the other man to assist him back into the bed and hastily wiping the moisture from his cheeks.

"So …. It's true then. I guess I _**am**_ Stringfellow Santini," Hawke sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face briefly.

"Yes. You really _**are **_Stringfellow Santini," Walker agreed with an easy smile.

"So where do all these other memories come from?"

"Good question."

"Gee doc, you're a great help," however Hawke found himself smiling now.

"They could have come from just about anywhere, String," the doctor gave him a questioning look at the use of his given name and Hawke nodded.

"The subconscious is a wonderful thing. Stringfellow Hawke, a name your mind seems to want to cling to, leftover from childhood, and I think that that is quite understandable. For most of us, memories of childhood are the strongest and most life affecting memories we have. Comforting or disturbing, they tend to rule our behaviour one way or another, " Walker explained patiently now.

"The characteristics, the life you remember, the details, they could have come from a book you read a long time ago, or maybe your mind has modelled him on a character from a movie. You'd be surprised the things the mind stores for use in the future, without our ever realising it, then we hear a name and think 'ah ha! Deja vous ….' But really, we first heard it in a story at Grandma's knee, or read it in a book in school and just forgot about it. Or, we heard it on the TV news when we were concentrating on something else and it just got stored away for future reference," the doctor explained.

"If I _**am **_Stringfellow Santini, how come I don't _**feel**_ it? Dom was right yesterday when he said that it was all just words to me, when he was telling me about Maria and Skyler and St John, but the stuff associated with Hawke …. I _**feel**_ that. It feels familiar. I felt, I _**feel,**_ his loss about St John being missing. Those memories were _**more**_ real."

"Perhaps you're just not ready yet. Perhaps the relief at finding that you are alive is just so overwhelming. It occurs to me, the similarities in the two lives, Hawke and Santini, coincide with the memories of things that you are most sure and confident about. In both existences, you are a pilot. That tells me that you have confidence in your abilities as a pilot, and that you enjoy your work. That you are comfortable with that aspect of your life," Walker paused and grew thoughtful just for a moment, leaving Hawke to consider his words.

And to accept that there was a grain of truth in them.

"Dominic Santini, the relationship is very slightly different, but you are obviously confident of his love and friendship, you trust him. As Hawke, his relationship is that of a friend, a confident and an employer. But, I get the feeling that he is more than that to Hawke, but that Hawke is not prepared to admit it out loud. Perhaps Hawke's Dominic Santini is a father to him in everything but name, and that ties in, with not remembering your wife and children. Perhaps they are things that you have always, deep down in your subconscious, believed that you did not deserve. They represent happiness that you do not believe that you deserve. For what ever reason, and perhaps there is guilt there too, about replacing your father with his best friend."

"Now you sound like a head shrinker again," Hawke sighed heavily, but again, silently he had to admit that there was a grain of truth in the other man's words.

He had always secretly harboured a guilty feeling that he regarded Dom as a substitute father.

And he had steered away from personal involvement on a romantic level with any woman recently because he secretly believed that he was jinxed.

That he would somehow cause their death.

Then there was St John ….

He had always felt more than a little guilty that he had survived Vietnam, and his brother was still trapped there, enduring God knows what.

He had always felt guilty about getting on with living as normal a life as possible, when his brother was a prisoner in some steaming jungle somewhere.

"And do you feel that you have gotten your money's worth?" Walker quipped with a grin then. "Look String, the trick here is not to analyize things too much. Just relax and see what comes back to you. I'm sure that you will begin to remember and piece things together, when you're good and ready. All you really need right now, no matter how awkward or wrong it feels, is to go home and be around, and get a little tender loving care, from, that lovely family of yours."

"But won't my not remembering hurt them? I wouldn't want to hurt them."

"And you think denying them and staying away from them _**won't**_ hurt them?" Walker quirked an eyebrow at him then.

"All the kids want is there Dad around, acting as normal as he can around them. The older ones already understand that you might not remember _**everything,**_ but kids are resilient, they won't care, believe me. All they really want is to know that their Dad's home and he's ok, that he is there for them. You can do that, can't you?"

"And Helen?"

"You're both adults. She'll understand that you'll need to take things slowly at first. That maybe you two will just have to start over again. Learn to like each other, get used to each other, become friends. Fall in love all over again. Nobody's asking you to fake being her husband, lover, friend …. But, if you don't spend time around them, you'll never remember how it feels to love them and be comfortable around them."

"Are you saying I'm well enough to get out of here?" Hawke brightened immediately.

"Maybe. In a few days time, when the medical doctors have finished poking and prodding and deliberating over the urine and blood samples. All the things that make their days fun," Walker grinned then.

"It's only my opinion of course, and there are others more qualified to comment, but, you appear to have quite a healthy body, and on the one point where my opinion _**does**_ count for something, your mind appears to have done the most healthy thing for you. To allow you to cope. So, it is my recommendation that the best way for you to learn to cope, is by letting you out of this place and back into the bosom of your family ….. So long as you agree to see another head shrinker colleague of mine, in Los Angeles, so that he can help you to cope with whatever you remember when it pops back into your head."

"Los Angeles?"

"Yes. You and Helen have a home in," Walker dropped his eyes to the patient notes for a moment and then looked back up at Hawke. "Malibu. Your wife arranged for you to be brought here from Los Angeles, when it was decided that you needed to be in a place that provided specialist care for coma patients, and because this is close to where Dominic lives now. He retired out here a few years back, before they found out that Maria had cancer. Helen thought that it would be the right thing to do, so Dom wouldn't have to keep travelling to the city," he explained when he noticed the questioning look on his patient's face.

"He found Helen and the children a place to rent close to where he lives. You have never lived here, Stringfellow, and it is my opinion that you will find your _**true**_ self more quickly if you go back to familiar territory. Have _**your**_ things around you. Your personal items. Your natural habitat," he grinned then.

"Gee …."

"So, what about seeing my colleague in the city?"

"I guess it can't hurt," Hawke let out a deep sigh of resignation and smiled ruefully at the doctor.

"No, I guess it can't," Walker chuckled then.

"Thanks doc."

"Well, it seems to me that the best place for you to be is with your family, with the people who love you, in the home that you have made for yourselves. But don't expect miracles, Stringfellow. It may take a while for you to remember. For things to slot back into place."

"And what if they never slot back into place, doc? What if I never remember the life before the accident?"

"It's a possibility that you will have to face, Stringfellow. The brain is a marvellous thing, but even so, there are still things that we don't understand, about how and why the mind does the things it does to protect its self. If it turns out that you don't ever remember, you _**will**_ learn to adapt. You _**will **_make a new life for yourself, because you have to. The alternative is to cease to live at all, and you didn't just spend four months fighting your way back to life, not to make the most of the life you have got, whomever and whatever you choose to be."

"A lot of people could get hurt, doc."

"A lot of people have already been hurt, worrying over whether you would live or not. If you would wake up, or not. Believe me, Stringfellow, whatever the future holds for you, the people who love you will go on loving you. Your relationships with them may change, evolve, but they will never stop loving you, and they will never regret that you survived. That you woke up. No-one who loves you would prefer that you had died. I am sure that Dominic Santini would rather have a live friend than a dead son. You understand what I am saying?"

Hawke nodded.

"No matter how bad things get on this journey you are embarking on, it has to be better than the alternative, and I think it would be a good thing all round if you settled in a little before the new baby arrives. They do have a habit of disrupting things," Walker grinned then.

"Whatever happens, Stringfellow, you just have to relax and give yourself time. But, more importantly, you have to keep an open mind. Open to the possibilities, because life is full of possibilities, and a closed mind will never heal."

Hawke nodded silently, admitting to himself that the man did have a point.

But he couldn't help harbouring the nagging doubt that nothing was as it appeared and that his original suspicion that he was in the middle of some elaborate hoax was still valid.

But if by playing along he gained his freedom, and found a way to discover what was _**really**_ going on here, then he would do so.

Watch and wait and learn.

Co-operation, for the time being, was to his advantage.

If, it was indeed a hoax, eventually someone would slip up and show their hand.

Or he would stumble onto some lead.

And, if he really was Stringfellow Santini?

He had a lot of catching up to do.

And a lot of blessings to count.

He just wished he knew which Stringfellow he really was.

He couldn't get the image of the scar on his back out of his mind.

It seemed to be conclusive proof that he was Santini not Hawke.

So why did he still not truly believe it?

He had seen it with his own eyes …. Felt it with his finger tips ….

It had been real.

Tangible.

So why didn't it feel right?


	5. Chapter 5

_**Saturday – Midday.**_

"So, the head doctor told you you could soon be coming home?" Dominic Santini regarded the younger man sitting up in the bed, surrounded by plump white pillows, with undisguised and genuine joy.

"That's what he said …. But, that it would ultimately be down to the medical doctors to make the final decision," Hawke explained as he pushed the food around his plate and glowered at it.

He was quite effectively pinned down, with a trolley rolled up across his midriff where the nurse had placed his lunch, and Dominic Santini perched on one leg on the bed beside him.

The monitors were all gone and the medical staff had taken down the drip and removed the IV from his arm first thing that morning, and his first proper meal, which the nurse had brought in just a few minutes before Dominic arrived to visit, consisted of a colourless congealed glutinous splodge in the middle of a white dish, masquerading as oatmeal, and a small plastic beaker of orange juice with a straw in it.

Dominic Santini watched the younger man and had to fight not to laugh out loud at the disgusted expression on his face.

"Glaring at it won't make it taste any better ya know."

Dominic Santini chuckled as Hawke wrinkled his nose and pushed the plate away, reaching out for the beaker of orange juice instead. He had been allowed to drink what he wanted since yesterday afternoon and had found that the orange juice was at least passable.

"I'm not hungry."

"Hungry or not, you gotta eat. Need to put some meat back on those bones …. Hawke," Dominic hesitated over the name and smiled wryly at the younger man.

The psychiatrist, Donald Walker, had explained to him in a brief telephone call the previous evening, that if that was the name that Stringfellow felt most comfortable with and responded best to, then they should continue to use it.

Although he had now made the first tentative steps toward acceptance of the fact that maybe he was Stringfellow Santini.

That at least he was no longer fighting against the possibility.

"They won't let you out of here if you don't eat," Santini warned. "Gotta build up your strength. Just think of all the wonderful meals Helen can make for you, when you get out of this joint. All of your favourites. You want me to ask her to put something together for you? I could always bring it in? Better yet, she could bring it in for you …."

"Subtle, Dom. Very subtle," Hawke sighed, but the older man continued to grin at him happily and Hawke found that he could not help smiling back at the older man.

"I'm sure she could fix something to tempt your appetite back. Cooks like an angel that one. Her Spaghetti and meatballs …. To die for," Santini kissed his fingertips. "Soon put the hairs back on your chest."

"I'm vegetarian."

"Since when?" Santini caught himself up then and frowned, then smiled apologetically at the younger man. "Oh, Ok. So she could always bring you a bunch of grapes?"

"Even that would be better than this mess," Hawke prodded the offending item with his spoon.

"So I can tell her that she can come see you?" Santini asked hopefully now.

"Yeah, only," Hawke grew solemn then, no longer teasing. "You'd better let her know that," his voice trailed away then.

"She knows, son. It ain't gonna be like old times. At least not right away. She's not expecting miracles. She understands that you need time to get to know her again, and I guess it's the same way for her too. It's been a while since she had you under her feet. We all understand that you need time, but hell, boy, we've waited a long time for this day to dawn, and there ain't nothing gonna spoil it for all of us! She prayed we'd have you home in time for the new baby, and now it looks like she's gonna get her wish. It's good that you'll be there for her."

Hawke's eyes grew wide and he almost choked on the mouthful of orange juice he had been sucking up as Santini spoke.

"She expects me to be there? When the baby comes?" he gasped when the coughing fit stopped.

"What's the big deal, you were there for all the others? Oh, dammit! You don't remember?"

"I don't know the first thing about having a baby."

"Well it's a good thing it ain't you having it then!" Santini roared with laughter. "Why don't you just relax and leave it to the expert, son, it ain't like she hasn't done this before," Santini laughed raucously.

"All you have to do is hold her hand and tell her that she is doing just fine, do a bit of heavy breathing with her," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively then and Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "I know you know _**how**_ to do that. You didn't find the other three under no gooseberry bush, kid!"

Dominic Santini roared with laughter then and all the younger man could do was watch and wait for him to regain his composure a little, scowling and rolling his eyes heavenward as he watched tears of laughter coursing down the older man's face.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah, ignore all the screaming and the threats and the insults, the promises to disembowel you if you ever go near her again. With Dom Junior, she held on to your hand so tight she almost broke four of your fingers!"

Santini continued to roar with laughter at the pained expression on the younger man's face.

"You're a veteran, son. It's like riding a bike, or so you told me, when Lucy was born. It'll come back to ya, and if it don't? Chalk it up to experience."

"Thanks a lot, Dom."

"It's your baby too. Why wouldn't you want to be there to welcome him or her into the world, huh? C'mon …. You'll be just fine, son. It ain't like you haven't seen it all before."

Hawke wanted to set the record straight by reminding Santini that he had never seen a baby born before.

But, instead he kept silent, surprised to find himself enjoying Santini's mirth at his obvious discomfort.

It was good to see the old geezer laughing so easily and naturally, the laughter washing the lines of worry and weariness from his face, the years melting away.

As the tears of mirth, rolled unashamedly down his weather beaten face.

"Glad you find it so amusing."

"You'll be just fine," Santini assured, pulling himself together now. "Lets me off the hook!" he chortled.

"Oh terrific …."

"No, son," Santini grew serious then. "Seeing his children born is something every man should experience."

The smile faded just a little from Santini's countenance then as he grew wistful.

"That's something us old fogies missed out on. In our day, the Papa's weren't encouraged to even be in the same room. We had to wait outside and pace up and down smoking countless cigarettes. Or at least, that's what Steven did the night you and Skyler were born."

"Dad didn't smoke." Hawke observed and then winced.

"No, that's right. He didn't," Santini continued to smile, reassuring Hawke that it was all right. That he understood. "But he ate two packs of Camel that night," Santini chuckled. "Sick as a dog for a week after, mind you!" the chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. "His face was the prettiest shade of green I ever did see. Oh, man, Connie was disgusted with him. Cussed him from here to Nova Scotia, and back again, for turning up to meet his new son and daughter reeking of cigarette smoke. Poor Steven. Never could stand to be in a room filled with cigarette smoke from that day on."

"I know. So that's why."

"Always said that was the best way never to learn to start smoking. Put him off for life. And back in those days, a man wasn't a man unless he was sucking on a smoke."

Again Hawke nodded, smiling softly to himself now. It was good to see that _**this**_ Dominic Santini still had his good memories of his old buddy, Steven Hawke.

And Hawke couldn't help wondering if he drove _**his **_Stringfellow to distraction with the old war stories.

Just like _**his **_Dom did.

Trying to keep him alive, in his son's memory.

"Yeah, I'm making a joke about it now," Santini began to pull himself together then. "But we really missed out on something special. Seeing your child come into the world, hearing its first cry, and there's nothing more precious than the first time they put that little screaming bundle into your arms, and you look into their angry, scrunched up little faces for the first time. I'll always be grateful to Connie for allowing me that …. With you …. While Steven took Skyler. I always knew that there was something special between us. I felt it in that very first moment. I love ya, son. And I'm so very glad to have you back."

Fresh tears suddenly sprang up in the older man's eyes then and he dropped his head for a moment, until he regained his composure.

"Helen would never say anything, she ain't that kinda girl, but this time it's been tough on her. Having to go through it all alone, although I've done what I can to support her and love her, and be there for her and the kids," Santini assured.

"I'm sure you have, Dom."

"But it ain't like having you there, son. I just know that this time Helen will be glad when it's all over and this new little one is here, safe and sound. She wants another girl, but my money's on another boy. Got a kick like you wouldn't believe! Strong little sucker. Oh well, so long as it has ten fingers and ten toes and everything where it should be," Santini let out a soft sigh. "He or she will be a most welcome addition to the Santini clan."

_**Sunday – Mid afternoon.**_

As she reached out to grasp the door handle in front of her, Helen Santini could not help but notice that her hand was shaking.

She paused for a moment to take a long, slow, calming breath, and told herself to relax.

No easy task.

She had not felt this nervous, or uncertain about the man in the room beyond this closed door, since the first few days after she had met him.

She again wondered if she should have stopped off at the ladies room to check her appearance ….

She hardly felt at her most attractive, at eight months pregnant, belly huge, ankles and fingers swollen, face, now a little flushed from slightly raised blood pressure. At least that was what she had told herself. Everything to do with the running around she had been doing for most of the day, getting the kids ready for Sunday school and herself ready for church, and then cooking a traditional Sunday lunch for herself, the kids and Papa Dominic.

Not her shyness at meeting the man behind this door again.

At least it was better than first thing this morning.

She had looked in the bathroom mirror whilst cleaning her teeth and had been greeted by a washed out face filled with huge, dark green, anxious, red rimmed eyes and framed by limp, lack lustre dark hair, peering back at her.

_**Her **_String had always said that she was beautiful when she was pregnant.

_**He**_ thought she was beautiful all the time.

But ….

_**This man ….**_

This man didn't quite believe that he was _**her**_ String.

He would be looking at her through the eyes of a stranger.

And she could not help wondering what he would see.

What he would think of her.

She was sure of _**her **_Stringfellow's love.

They had a good marriage.

A strong marriage, based on a deep and abiding love for each other, and friendship and affection.

But this man had no memory of that.

He had no memory of her.

The more she thought about it, the more her hand began to shake.

_**Stop that right now, and pull yourself together! **_She told herself sternly. _**Get a hold of yourself woman!**_

It will be all right.

_**It will be all right.**_

Just relax and be yourself.

He's your husband and you love him.

That's all that matters.

Give him time.

_**It's all still there, locked away deep inside his memory.**_

_**Together, we can find the key to unlocking all those wonderful memories for him.**_

After his visit yesterday, Dominic had dropped by to tell her that String had agreed to her visiting him.

Dom had told her that the younger man didn't seem to be quite so adamant that he wasn't the man they all knew and loved.

That since his visit with the psychiatrist he seemed not to be fighting against the possibility anymore, although, he was far from accepting without question that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini.

At least he was a little more open minded.

Dominic had also told her that he had expressed a concern about hurting her.

Building her hopes up.

Disappointing her.

She had been touched when she heard that.

How like String.

To be concerned, over her feelings. Aware that he might somehow trample all over her already delicate emotions by simply not remembering their life together.

It wasn't going to be easy.

For any of them.

But they would deal with it.

They had to, if their marriage had any chance of continuing. Surviving.

But first, she had to take that difficult first step.

And open the damned door!

She drew in another long, calming and cleansing breath and after expelling it slowly, again reached out for the door handle.

_**Oh well, here goes!**_

Stringfellow Hawke was reading the morning newspaper when she popped her head around the door, and as soon as he heard the door's soft swish as it opened, he lowered the newspaper to see who was there.

"Hi," Helen Santini smiled shyly at him from the doorway. "May I come in?"

"Sure."

Hawke folded up the newspaper and set it to one side as she entered the room and walked toward him, carrying a wicker basket over her arm, he noted, as she came closer to the bed and sat down somewhat awkwardly in the low, metal framed chair beside the bed.

She looked radiant, he thought, skin glowing, eyes bright and alive and filled with all the love she quite obviously felt, but was unable to voice.

She really was a very attractive young woman.

In a natural, not contrived way, Hawke realised, as he noted the lack of make up.

She had dressed carefully in a pretty floral maternity dress and white cardigan and on her feet, low heeled sensible sandals.

Around her neck she wore a simple silver chain on to which she had slipped her wedding band and another ring.

Both were of a white metal, gold or platinum he wasn't sure, one a plain, narrow band, the other set with a solitaire diamond. An engagement ring, perhaps? The only other item of jewellery she wore was a petite, delicate, silver coloured wristwatch on her left wrist.

Helen Santini set down the wicker basket at her feet and sitting up straight in the metal framed chair turned to look at him properly, for the first time since that first morning.

He looked good.

He looked like _**her**_ String.

His colour was good and he looked well rested.

Those beautiful, piercing blue eyes regarding her with equal curiosity, and she realised that he was looking at the chain around her neck. Automatically her hand came up to caress the rings that would normally live on the third finger of her left hand, and she smiled softly at him.

"I had to take them off again, because my fingers were getting so swollen," she explained in a soft, low, melodic voice. "I put them back on the chain you gave me when I was pregnant with Dom Junior. So that I could still wear them, have them close to my heart," she lowered her gaze then, feeling heat suffuse her cheeks.

She hadn't made any attempt to touch him, although every instinct in her body had been screaming at her to lean in and give him a kiss, before she sat down, and even now her fingers were burning with the need to push that stray tendril of hair back off of his forehead ….

To stroke his cheek and trace the line of his jaw …..

Just so that she could reassure herself that he was indeed real.

"Happens every time, but, I'll put them back on, once this little one is here, safe and sound," she looked up to find him regarding her with the same steady blue gaze.

"I missed you," this on a whisper, but Hawke still heard quite clearly what she said as he noted the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No, _**I'm**_ sorry," she swallowed down the lump in her throat and knuckled away the errant tear that was slowly making its way down her soft, pale cheek. "Hormones," she smiled radiantly at him then.

"What's in the basket?" Hawke asked her then, deciding to change the subject and give her something else to think about, and himself time to consider his own thoughts and feelings right at that moment.

"Oh," she leaned down and picked up the basket once more. "Dominic mentioned that you weren't finding the food here to your taste, so I checked with Nurse Monroe that it would ok first, and then I put together a few things for you. Dominic also mentioned that you aren't eating meat at the moment. Poor Dom, that really offended his carnivorous nature! I wasn't sure what that meant exactly. Just meat or did that include fish, eggs, cheese, milk, that kind of thing? So, well, here, you decide."

She began to pull out neatly wrapped packages from the wicker basket and laid them down carefully on the bed beside Hawke.

He watched as she pulled out a wedge of Brie and crusty Italian bread, a large bunch of red grapes and fat peaches and oranges and apples, and she just kept adding to the pile, pulling out plastic containers of cold pasta salad and rice salad, plump ripe tomatoes and an olive oil based dressing, and Stringfellow Hawke found himself grinning, his mouth watering in anticipation, as she just kept pulling out more food, like a magician pulling scarves out of his hat, laying before him a veritable feast fit for a king.

"Don't tell me,you have a rabbit in there too?"

Helen paused in the middle of producing a small pot of home made strawberry preserve and looked up at him with steady big green eyes.

"Couldn't fit it in, because of the kitchen sink," she deadpanned.

And suddenly they were both laughing, relaxed and natural, both of their faces wreathed in happy smiles both reaching out to grab at various pots as they started to slide toward the edge of the bed ….

And his hand accidentally brushed against hers as they both made to grab at the same pot of pasta salad.

Instinctively she made to draw her hand away, an uncertain look in her eyes now as she looked up into his face, but, for some reason he could not fully comprehend, Stringfellow Hawke felt compelled to gently take her hand in his own and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze, before letting it go once more.

The smile that she gave to him was a blessing.

Filled with love, and hope and relief.

From that one simple gesture, she had found some reassurance.

He wasn't rejecting her.

They may have a long and rocky road ahead of them to travel, to get back to the relationship that they had previously enjoyed, but at least he hadn't dismissed out of hand completely the need to travel that road.

He wasn't going to shut her out of his life.

It might take time.

It might not be easy.

But at least he was willing to give it a chance.

That smile tore at Hawke's heart, as he found himself hoping that he had not given her false hope.

She was indeed a lovely young woman.

Everything that Dominic Santini had said that she was, and more.

And even though he did not understand it, Hawke had to admit that he felt _**something**_.

An affinity.

A closeness.

A pull.

He had no idea how that could be, as he knew for certain that they had never met before today.

But, whatever it was that was going on between them, he decided that it had to make things a little easier.

And they had certainly broken the ice now.

"Eat," she chuckled, offering him a chunk of bread and the pot of strawberry preserve. "Absolutely meat free, guaranteed," she grinned then.

He ate with relish.

Another breakfast of oatmeal, accompanied this time by a slice of toasted white bread that had been like rubber as he chewed on it, had left him feeling far from satisfied, or full.

This bread was delicious, yeasty, fresh, crusty on the outside and soft in the middle and the preserve was sweet and fruity and made his mouth water, and when she produced a thermos flask of freshly brewed coffee that smelt divine, Hawke thought he had died and gone to heaven.

Helen Santini sat there and watched him eat with a contented smile on her face.

Now was not the time for words.

Now all she wanted to do was look at him.

Feast her eyes on him.

Still hardly able to believe that he was awake.

Her heart swollen and fit to burst, with all the love that she felt for him.

And for the first time, she truly began to believe that things might just turn out right after all.

She began to believe that they had a chance.

"Thank you," Hawke's smile was genuinely warm as he finished eating and began to help her to replace all the various pots into the wicker basket. "Do you always produce such sumptuous feasts out of fresh air?"

"You've been talking to Papa Dominic," she blushed in a very natural and very becoming fashion.

"Papa Dominic?" he frowned.

"My pet name for him. After all, he became my father too, on the day we were married." She explained, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "You won't remember, but I was an orphan too. My parents died when I was six years old and I spent my early life moving from one foster home to another. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, and for a very long time, it was just me."

There was no self pity in her voice, Hawke was quick to notice, when she spoke of her childhood, despite the fact that it could not have been very pleasant. Devoid of love, and companionship.

She was simply explaining how it had been.

"And then I met you, and you showed me what it was like to come from a big, happy, loving family, and that family embraced me, and took me into their hearts, long before _**you **_accepted that I could care for you and that it was all right for _**you**_ to love _**me,**_ and be _**loved**_ by _**me **_in return. They accepted me as a daughter and a sister, long before we got married. So you see, Dominic Santini is the only _**real**_ father I have known. And Maria …."

He watched as she swallowed down the lump that had suddenly risen into her throat and wrestled with her composure.

"No girl could ask for a more loving and understanding Mother," she continued in a voice made low and hoarse by emotion. "Oh String …. Hawke," she stammered, confusion and embarrassment and frustration on her lovely face now as she struggled to address him in a way that would not offend him. "All the blessings in my life have come from knowing you. From loving you."

Suddenly the tears would not be dammed any longer and she hung her head, burying her face in her hands, as she gave vent to her sorrow, silent tears wracking her body and as he watched her, consumed in pain and grief and sorrow, Stringfellow Hawke felt his heart constrict in his chest

He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her.

To take her into his arms, and fold her against the solid wall of his chest.

To comfort her.

To take away the uncertainty and give her back the security that was the life she had known with the man that she loved.

But he couldn't.

Could he?

What kind of message would that be sending out to her?

He didn't want to give her false hope.

Dammit, he didn't want to allow himself to dream that the cosy, rosy, contented little world that Stringfellow Santini knew could become his own.

And yet, part of him yearned to know the life and the contentment and the love that Stringfellow Santini knew.

Here was the perfect opportunity for him to have a small taste of all the things that he had longed for.

Hadn't he always wondered what it would be like to be in a stable, enduring, loving relationship?

Hadn't he always yearned to know how it would feel to be a father?

How would he live with himself if he let this chance slip away, and these things never became reality for Stringfellow Hawke?

_**Why not step into Stringfellow Santini's shoes, just for a little while?**_

_**What harm could it do?**_

The people who loved him already believed that he was Santini.

Hell, after yesterday's revelation about the scar on his back, _**he**_ was halfway to believing that he was Santini too.

It was what everyone expected of him.

_**So why not?**_

What if this was his only chance to experience all the things that he really wanted out of life?

Who knew how long it would last?

Perhaps this was just some weird dream, and one day he would wake up, and find that he really was Stringfellow Hawke after all, and all of this had merely been a trick of the mind.

How would he feel on that day?

If he didn't take the opportunity to live it, feel it?

And if this turned out to be some fantastic ruse, some amazing con trick, then maybe by living Santini's life, treading in his footsteps, Hawke would find out who was manipulating him and what it was they really wanted from him.

He was torn between his need to know.

And his need to experience all the joys he knew might be denied him in his real existence.

He was only human, after all.

_**Why not go along with it?**_

_**Why not immerse him self in it completely?**_

_**Who knew what he might take away from the experience?**_

And yet, he could not help wondering what harm, what hurt it might cause to this lovely young woman, to Dominic Santini, to those beautiful children.

"Helen, please," he reached out tentatively and gently laid his hand on her bowed head. "Don't do this to yourself. Please," he spoke softly, allowing his fingers to stroke her silky, soft hair. "This is the last thing I wanted. To hurt you."

He dropped his hand then, as she moved her head up, so that she could look at him once more, face pale and awash with tears.

"Oh, no," she spluttered, her green eyes huge in her pale face. "No love, these are happy tears. Really," she assured him as she sniffed and sobbed and wrestled with a smile. "It's just so _**good **_to have you back. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"It's just that I love you _**so**_ much. I've missed you, so much. Oh God, when I first saw you lying there, in that hospital bed in LA, I thought you were dead. Lost to me. Gone. I've always loved to watch you sleep, but these past months, I have come to hate seeing you lying there, so still, eyes closed," she gasped out between fresh sobs, more tears cascading down her face.

"I'm just so happy to see you looking so well," she choked out and Hawke had no trouble believing her.

Oh God ….

_**How would it feel to be loved that much?**_ He could not help wondering to himself.

What man wouldn't want to feel that kind of love from his life partner?

His wife?

_**And wasn't he just like any other man?**_

Curious.

As worthy of love as the next man.

"So pleased, to see you looking so good. I thought that I would never see those beautiful blue eyes of yours, sparkling with life. I thought that I would never see them open again."

Hawke suddenly remembered the comments made to him by both the first nurse and the doctor, when he had awoken.

About his beautiful blue eyes ….

That she had told them that they were the deepest, and most incredibly beautiful blue eyes they would ever see.

And he realised that they must have been Helen's words.

"I'm sorry," she bowed her head once more and started rummaging around in the pocket of her cardigan for a clean tissue. "Pregnant women can get very emotional," she reminded him, smiling valiantly through fresh tears as she produced a tissue and began dabbing at her nose delicately with it.

"Helen …. I," Hawke stammered, not knowing what to say to her, genuinely touched by the obvious love and affection she felt.

No woman had ever cried like that over him before.

"It's all right, String …. Hawke," she faltered once more, a perplexed expression on her face, obviously finding it hard to decide which name to use. "Oh dammit, I can't get used to calling you that."

"Then call me, String," he told her softly. "Helen …."

"String," this time her smile was warm and genuine, as she regarded him with big, soulful green eyes. "I'm fine now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you," she blew her nose gently.

"Look …. Helen …. I don't know what is going to happen," Hawke began on a deep sigh. "But, I promise you, I will keep an open mind. I don't know if I will ever remember, but, I will try."

"That's all anyone could ask, love. It's going to take us both time, to get used to being around each other again. But, if we are both willing to be nice to each other, and to try to find some common ground, keep an open mind …."

She reached out to take his hand carefully in her own then and Stringfellow Hawke found that he liked the tenderness of her touch, the feel of her warm hand against his own.

He liked the way she looked at him, with such love and trust and joy.

He even liked the way she said his name.

String ….

Hawke ….

The way she called him 'love' ….

_**Oh God.**_

Maybe it was complete craziness, but he suddenly found himself wanting to know how it would feel to be a husband to this woman and a father to her children.

_**In every sense.**_

Suddenly he wanted that, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life before.

_**Whether it was the right thing to do or not.**_

_**It was probably very selfish.**_

_**But why not?**_

_**Why not give these wonderful people what they wanted? **_

_**Their beloved son and much loved husband and father, and at the same time, draw from the experience, all the things that he wanted and needed deep down in his heart ….**_

"I'm willing to give it a try. If, you are?" Hawke spoke in a low, hoarse voice and watched the light of hope return to her beautiful, tempestuous green eyes.

"Oh yes! Yes. More than anything," she whispered back. "But, no expectations. No pressures. We take each day as it comes and see where it leads," Helen Santini reassured gently. "I _**know**_ that _**I**_ love _**you **_, String," she gave him a questioning look then and he smiled softly at her.

"I know that I love you …. I will love you until I draw my dying breath," she squeezed his hand gently. "But, I also know that right now, _**you **_don't know how that feels. _**You**_ don't remember, _**us**_ …. And that must make you feel very awkward. Shy."

"You can say that again," he allowed himself a smile then.

Helen hesitated for a moment, regarding him with large, luminous deep green eyes, which he now noted had the most unusual flecks of gold glinting in the irises, giving the appearance that her eyes were twinkling.

"Dr Walker said that we should all try to make things as normal for you as we could. Just carry on as usual, and let you slip back into things in your own time," she told him softly, but the expression on her face told him all too clearly that she was unsure.

"I guess that makes sense," he reassured her.

"Well yes, except, you don't remember what normal is, and well, it's been a while. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable …. Or shock you."

She flushed very becomingly then and lowered her eyes briefly, and it became clear to him that she had given considerable thought to what might happen once he was allowed out of the hospital and was thrust back into normal every day life.

"Then maybe you should tell me what is and isn't normal," he coaxed, trying not to smile at her shyness.

"Oh, Ok. Well, this, for a start …."

She rose slowly from her chair, releasing her grip on his hand briefly, and leaning very carefully against the bed, pressed soft, warm lips to his, lingering there just for a moment, and then pulled away again slowly.

"And this …."

She said in a low, husky voice, reaching out with delicate, trembling fingers to brush away the stray lock of hair that had fallen over his brow, and then allowed them to trail gently down his cheek and jaw line before her hand dropped back down on the bed.

"I see," Hawke mumbled gruffly, still reeling from the tenderness of her lips against his own, and the gentleness of her fingers against his cheek. "Guess I can live with that," he let out a soft chuckle. "Seems pretty normal stuff, for married people," he grinned, liking the gleam he suddenly found in her beautiful eyes.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"I wouldn't want to shock you, or offend you by getting a little more familiar than you can cope with. But, the doctor said to act as normally as I could around you, so I fully intend to do as he said, and just act naturally," she grinned at him then as she sank back down into the chair beside the bed, and he found it most becoming.

"No need to rush into anything, sweetheart. After all, whilst it might be the most natural thing in the world to show my husband how much I love him, I've kinda gotten out of the habit," she batted her eyelids at him in a most alluring manner and Hawke found himself grinning back at her.

"We have all the time in the world," she whispered, rising slightly from her chair once more to press her lips to his rugged cheek.

"Yeah," Hawke found himself agreeing, mesmerised by those beautiful deep green eyes.

"But I don't want to be afraid to touch you, love. I won't be made to feel afraid to touch you. We touch each other all the time," she told him as she drew away and sat down carefully once more.

"It's second nature. We're always holding hands, or giving each other hugs, or slipping our arms around each other's waists," she told him, blushing furiously. "It's the one thing that people always comment on, when they first meet us. How tactile we are. Always touching each other, reaching out for each other. They find it very refreshing, that we aren't afraid to show our feelings for each other," she explained. "If I forget myself, and start to touch you, I don't want to constantly feel the need to be apologising, to be fretting that I have offended you. Ok?"

"Ok …."

"The kids are used to seeing us touching each other. It would be good for them too, to keep things as normal and as natural as possible. They are used to us behaving in a certain way toward each other. Of course, they know that to begin with, you might not remember everything, but if you just act naturally around them."

"I'll try."

"Then that's ok."

Hawke was glad that she had been the one to set down some ground rules.

"Do you remember anything? Has any of it started to come back to you?"

Hawke shook his head regretfully.

"Oh, well. Never mind. I guess it is still early days."

"Do you know when they're letting me out of here?"

"Dr Coleman said he would see how you were doing on Thursday, and then maybe discharge you on Friday morning, so that we can drive back to LA," she explained, again dabbing away the last of her tears from her cheeks with the damp tissue.

"Dom said he would be happy to take us. We weren't sure if you would feel up to the drive. If, you would be allowed to drive. Or if you would even remember how," she flushed most becomingly again then.

"And I can't drive all the way there. Shouldn't be driving at all really, this late on," she smoothed her hand down over the front of her dress, revealing the swollen belly beneath.

"We could always stay here for a while."

"Dr Walker said that you needed to be back home. _**Our **_home," Helen reminded him gently then. "That you need to be around familiar things. Things that might nudge the memories forward so that you can get at them," she explained, gently reaching out to take his hand in her own again, caressing his palm lovingly with her thumb as she spoke.

"There's nothing at the house here that would help you to remember, love. You've never even been there. When the doctors in LA found this place for us, because it had the best facilities and the best reputation, and because it was close to family, Dom found us a small rental a few blocks from his place."

Hawke recalled the psychiatrist telling him the same thing when he had seen him the previous day.

"It's a nice place, but its not home," she let out a heartfelt sigh then.

"How long? Before the baby comes?" He asked gently then, and was rewarded by a look of genuine pleasure on her face, that he was at last showing an interest in his unborn child.

"It's not due for another three weeks, but frankly, love, that doesn't mean a thing. I had a check up with the doctor here in town the other day, and he said that everything is just fine, the head is already engaged, which means we could have blast off any day now."

"Then maybe it isn't such a good idea for you to travel. Maybe it would be better if we stayed here. At least until after the baby is born," Hawke pointed out quietly. "Maybe I could stay with Dominic?" Even as he said the words, he could see the disappointment in her lovely eyes. "If, it would make things easier?"

"It wouldn't," she told him bluntly. "Papa Dominic really doesn't have the room, String. But if, you don't want to come home …."

"I didn't say that," he let out a long exasperated sigh then. "I just thought, that way, Dom would be around. For both of us. If we needed him …."

"I want to go home too, String. Maybe I'm being a bit selfish, but, there are things I need to do. For the baby. The nursery is ready, but there are still little things I want, need, to do to make it right for when I bring the new baby home," she told him then, her expression appealing with him to understand how she was feeling, her thumb drawing lazy circles in his palm as she spoke, driving him to distraction.

"My doctor didn't say I shouldn't travel at all, only that I shouldn't fly or drive," she told him earnestly then. "And if I am honest, I want to be back in the city. I'm willing to endure a couple of days journey in a station wagon with three bored kids and Papa Dominic humming Italian Opera all the way, because I really want this baby to be born in the same hospital as the others, delivered by the doctor who knows us, the doctor I know and trust. Besides, love, I think it would be a good idea for you to have been home, at least for a little while, so you can get familiar with the house again. So that you can get used to being around the kids, and the kids can get used to you, being around again, before we disrupt their world with another new arrival. After all, you'll have to take care of the kids until I get out of the hospital."

Hawke hadn't thought about that.

Helen Santini saw the look on his precious face and felt her heart skip a beat as she realised what he was thinking.

Feeling.

As his grip on her hand tightened, just slightly.

He was afraid to come home.

Afraid to be alone with her and the children.

Because there was so much that he did not remember.

He did not feel confident in his abilities to cope as a husband and a parent.

He was afraid that he might fail her, when she needed him the most.

Afraid, that he might not be up to the tasks ahead.

She drew in a soft breath and expelled it slowly, trying to put herself in his position. Trying to imagine how he must be feeling.

Lost.

Unsure.

Awkward.

Cast adrift in a strange world full of strange people.

Lacking in self confidence.

She realised immediately that she had been expecting far too much from him.

They all had.

It wasn't going to be a simple matter of picking up the pieces and moving on.

Hawke noticed the serious expression on her face then and frowned at her.

"Helen? Look, please …. Let's not fight about this,"he let out a long, ragged sigh.

"Call this a fight?" her features slid into a becoming grin then, as she raised her startlingly green eyes to regard him steadily once more.

"Do we fight?"

"Constantly," she confirmed for him, and immediately hot colour bloomed on her cheeks. "But only because we enjoy making up afterward so much," she giggled and he found it a very pleasant sound.

"Why do you think we have four kids?" she chuckled at the expression that settled on his face then.

"This isn't even a tiff," she assured him. "And now that I think about it, love, you're right. Maybe it would be better if we stayed here. Close to Dom …."

"Do you always give in so easily?"

"Oh, no! Only when I know I can't win," she beamed back at him, then grew serious once more.

"I'm sorry, String, I didn't stop to think how you must be feeling. I'm just so caught up in having this baby, in my feelings and my needs. I didn't think about how you might feel. That you might actually feel out of your depth, and unsure how to deal with things. I'm just so used to you being so confident and accomplished when it comes to dealing with the kids."

"I can't deny that I am feeling a little …."

"Overwhelmed?" she offered for him when he faltered.

"Yeah."

Overwhelmed.

Yes. That was exactly the right word.

"I'm sorry."

"Will you quit saying sorry. None of this is your fault," Hawke gave her hand a reassuring squeeze then.

"None of this is anyone's fault, String," she told him earnestly. "But, it has happened, and we do have to deal with it," she squeezed his hand firmly in return then.

Hawke nodded softly.

"We don't have to do anything that you don't feel comfortable with," she grew coy again and he could not help frowning at her. "Well," she said in response to the look on his face. "It's just that Papa Dominic happened to mention that you were feeling a little, shy. About being there, when the baby comes."

Stringfellow Hawke did not know whether to bless the older man or curse him, as he saw the disappointment reflected in her eyes.

"I …. I'm, er, just not sure I would know what to do," he stammered, feeling the heat of his embarrassment flooding his cheeks now. "I wouldn't want to get in the way."

Hawke watched as Helen Santini struggled not to grin at his obvious discomfort.

"You could never be in the way, lover," she wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, but then grew serious again and resumed drawing the slow, lazy circles in the palm of his hand with her thumb. "But, I understand. I can't lie to you, String, I really want you to be there with me when this baby comes. But …."

"If it really means that much to you," Hawke offered, lowering his gaze then, not wanting her to see just how uncomfortable he was with the idea of being involved at the birth of her baby.

When he still felt so much like a stranger.

When _**she**_ still felt so much like a stranger. No matter how close and good it felt to have her near to him.

However, she was very astute.

"It's not that, love. You were there when the others were born, and I just think that it helps with the bonding between father and child," she explained gently. "I've carried those children inside me, for nine months, getting to know them, love them, feel them move. But, it's different for a man. More detached. Seeing that child come into the world, and holding that child just seconds after it is born. It is a very special moment. Whatever you feel for that child, at that moment, stays with you for the rest of your life, String, helps to shape the relationship you have with that child for the rest of its life."

Perhaps she did not realise it, but she was echoing words that Dominic Santini had said to him not so long ago.

"But, look, why don't we work something out when the time comes?" she suggested with a gentle smile, and he was touched by her tolerance and understanding.

"We really don't have to decide anything right this minute. Let's see how you feel when the moment is upon you, and if you still feel, shy, about it …. Well, then Papa Dominic will just have to stand in for you. It's what we had agreed he was going to do, before you woke up."

"I kinda guessed that that had been the plan, when Dom told me that he was off the hook."

"You guys," Helen sighed expressively, rolling her eyes heavenward in exasperation, but there was a twinkle of amusement and mischief in her lovely eyes when she settled her gaze back on his face.

"It's all right, String. I think I understand how you must be feeling. You feel like you barely know me …. And having a baby is such an …. intimate thing."

Hawke found himself marvelling at just how understanding she was being with him.

"If you don't feel able to be there when the time comes. It will be all right," she assured him softly. "Really, I do understand. It won't change anything, between us. About how I feel about you, and this baby. Our baby," she assured. "Oh sweetheart, I love you. Right now, that's the only thing that you need to know, and believe."

Hawke could not doubt her sincerity.

She was so open and honest about her feelings.

He doubted that she could have hidden her true feelings, even if she had wanted to.

There was an abundance of love shining from her eyes.

Love for him.

_**No.**_

Love for her husband.

The man that she _**thought**_ that he was.

Stringfellow Santini.

"What if it turns out I'm not the man you think I am?" he found himself asking her in a rough, hoarse voice, his voice trapped behind a lump of emotion that had suddenly risen in his throat. "What if I _**never**_ remember?"

"Then we will all learn to love and accept you for the man that you are, String. How different could you be? I don't mean different in appearance either. You certainly look like _**my**_ String, and sound like him, and from what I have seen of you so far, you're acting pretty much like him too. Maybe it's not something that you have to consciously _**remember**_, but, maybe it's just the way you _**are**_. Just be _**you**_, darling. Just be yourself. How could we not love you?"

She rose carefully from her seat and again leaned in to press her lips to his in a reassuring kiss ….

And this time, Hawke found himself reaching out to put his arms around her body, drawing her closer, moving his lips against hers, deepening the kiss, needing to feel her warmth, and the depth and power of her love ….

And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Like he had done the same thing, a thousand times over.

Drawing comfort.

Giving comfort.

Giving and receiving love.

Helen Santini automatically relaxed in his arms, responding to his kiss with a passion that amazed Hawke, as her arms wrapped around his upper body and drew him even closer.

_**Oh God, what was he doing?**_

And yet, it felt so ….

Right.

It felt so good ….

At that moment he felt that this woman truly belonged in his arms.

That she truly belonged to him.

And that he truly belonged with her.

And he could not wait to savour every precious moment that he could be with her.

They parted at last, needing to draw breath, but the look she gave to him as she withdrew slowly from his embrace, filled his heart with joy.

"What happened to taking things slowly?" she grinned wickedly at him, reaching out to draw delicate fingers down his rough cheek lovingly once more.

"I guess something very strange happens to me, when you do something like _**that**_!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I forget about everything, except how to do this," he reached out and snaked his hand behind her neck, drawing her face back down to his, kissing her deeply once more. "Is that, ok?" he asked softly against her lips.

"I think I could get used to it," she chuckled softly and kissed him back with such urgency and passion it startled him.

As did his own need and passion as he gathered her even closer.

Dismissing the little voice in his head, that was telling him that this was all wrong. That this was another man's wife …..

Pregnant wife ….

Listening to his own heart instead, which was telling him, why not? Why not act like a husband?

Just for a little while?

When it could turn out to be the one and only chance he might have.

"Easy, tiger," she pulled gently away from him breathless and grinning broadly. "If you carry on like that, this baby will be making an appearance sooner than either of us expects," she chuckled at the look on his precious face. "Now, why don't you move over, just a little. After all, I'm supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible."

"Oh, no! You'd better stay right where you are. If you get any closer, I won't be held responsible for my actions!" Hawke was only half joking. "Take a load off," he pointed to the chair. "And tell me all about how we met. I can guess that the doctors have all told you _**not**_ to tell me too much, that I should be trying to remember it for myself, but, I need some background information, you never know, something you say might just nudge one of those memories forward to where I can get at it."

"Well," she sat down, somewhat reluctantly, and captured her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully, and Hawke knew that he was right about his assumption that the medics had told her not to give away too much information about his life.

And just for an instant, he could not help feeling just the slightest bit suspicious, that if this _**was**_ some elaborate ruse, whoever was trying to control him did not want him to have too much information about the lie, in case he should try to get corroboration of it, once he was outside the hospital and back in the real world.

"Where to start?" Helen sighed expressively and Hawke found himself grinning at her again.

"I usually find the beginning is a good place," he chuckled.

"Cute," she poked her tongue out at him then and then grinned back. "Would you like me to start with Once Upon a Time?"

"Only if you want me to come over there and sit on your lap," he teased her gently and found that along with coming easily to him, he really _**liked**_ it.

"Down, boy!" but she was laughing happily now.

"How did we meet?" Hawke asked in a more serious tone of voice now and Helen Santini made a concerted effort to pull herself together.

"Well, ok. Actually, we first met in June of 1969," she grew serious then, and Hawke noted the solemn expression on her face, unable to suppress the feeling that their meeting had not been a pleasant experience for her.

So, maybe it hadn't exactly been love at first sight for them then? He mused.

"That bad, huh?" he arched an eyebrow in enquiry, when she remained silent and lost in thought for several minutes.

"What?" she returned from her reverie with a vague expression on her face.

"I made _**that**_ good a first impression, huh?" Hawke grinned shyly then and she returned his smile with one of her own, and reached out to pat his hand gently.

"Sorry love, drifted off there for a minute," she told him with a soft, wistful sigh.

"That's ok, take your time. You were saying?" he prompted her now, curious to know more. "We first met in 1969 …."

"Yes," she took in a quick breath. "It was summer, school was almost out."

"School?"

"Yeah. I was fifteen years old," she told him with a soft smile. "About to have my sixteenth birthday actually …. And I had this crazy idea in my head, that I wanted to be a nurse. We all did, my friends in High School and I," she grew wistful for a moment.

"The war in Vietnam was all over the newspapers, TV. Pictures of our guys out there, getting the hell shot out of them. We all wanted to do our bit to serve our country, to honour their sacrifice, "the look that she gave to him tore at Hawke's heart.

"But, my foster mother at the time, a very wise woman, knew that I wasn't cut out for it, and so, in a bid to make me see that I would be making a terrible mistake if I chose to go into medicine, she called in a favour with a friend of hers and arranged for me to work as a volunteer at the VA Hospital," she explained slowly. "I became a Candy Striper," She grinned widely then.

"We got to do all the horrible jobs that the nurses were too busy to do, lots of mopping up and emptying bedpans and cleaning the sluice room and changing bed linens," she wrinkled her nose. "Hardly the glamorous profession I thought it was. I learned more about flower arranging than I did about actual nursing. But, we sometimes got to sit with the patients, especially the younger ones, because we had more in common with them, I guess."

She grew quiet for a moment, trying to put her thoughts in order and Hawke waited patiently for her to continue.

"Most of the boys appreciated having pretty young girls running around after them, fetching them cigarettes and newspapers and magazines and candy. Sneaking in bottles of beer, playing the radio too loud and singing along …. Even dancing, sometimes. Goofing around. We thought we were helping, and it took some of the pressure off the medical staff. We volunteers had more time to sit with the patients and listen to them when they wanted to talk."

"Is that how we met?" Hawke asked in a soft voice.

"Kind of," Helen smiled enigmatically then.

"Was I awful to you?" he asked then, recalling the distant look on her face a few moments before.

"Yup!" she told him bluntly, without batting an eyelid.

"Oh boy," he let out a deep, ragged sigh then.

"I understood," she patted his hand once more. "No, really. I did," she assured him when he did not look convinced.

"I was a baby compared to you. Fifteen years old, still so much a child, no matter how grown up I thought I was. You were nineteen, and you'd been to war, fought along side other men. You were grieving for the loss of your brother, feeling helpless, and angry at the idea that you might never walk again. You needed to take it out on someone, I guess you couldn't off load on your family, so, I just happened to be there."

Hawke could well imagine the hard time he had given her.

He could be cruel and unforgiving at times.

And he could relate to her comment about his not wanting to show his true feelings in front of his family.

It was not one of his more endearing traits.

"Was it bad?"

"Sure," she grinned at the pained expression that suddenly clouded his handsome features.

"Ouch …."

"Hmmmm. Ouch," she agreed. "You were the nastiest, vilest, cruellest, most foul mouthed patient on the ward," she told him without preamble. "You were so mean and angry you would throw your food, or your bedpan, even vases of flowers, at anyone who happened to be close," she tried to hide a smile.

"Oh, no," Hawke let out a deep, low groan.

"Everyone was tiptoeing around you, because they knew what you had been through …. What you had to face up to, but, I decided that if you needed someone to rant and rave at, then I could take it, after all, I was going to be the best nurse in the whole damned world, and I had to start somewhere."

"I hurt you?"

"Mmmmm. Yes, you did. Several times, every day for at least a month," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze then.

"But, no matter how vile you were, how cruel or crude or just plain nasty, I just kept coming back for more, trying to be your friend, trying to understand how you felt and to show you that there were people who really did care, not for any other reason than because they could. People who could see beyond the disability, and the wheelchair. I guess you finally got tired of fighting it, of bottling everything up, trying to be strong and brave and a macho man. One day, we got into a fight, a real shouting match, but instead of wading in there to help, the other guys and the nursing staff just got out of our way and watched the sparks fly. Believe me, I gave as good as I got!" she assured him.

"Don't ask me how, but we wound up crying, in each other's arms, and, after that, we became …. Friends. We became close. I guess you stopped thinking of me as a baby, and decided that you could confide in me, talk to me. When you went into surgery that first time, to try to remove the bullet from your spine, you wouldn't let anyone else go with you. It had to be me. I guess you developed some kind of grudging respect, for the way I took everything you dished out, and eventually, you began to trust me. To open up to me about how you were really feeling. I was able to sit with you and we talked. Really talked."

"Then what happened?"

"The surgeons couldn't get to the bullet, or so they said, at least not without causing you permanent damage, so you had to face up to the fact that, you were going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, and that you'd better accept it, and get on with living," she told him gently.

"You started to heal, physically and emotionally and psychologically. You got stronger. Once you made up your mind, you were determined to overcome your limitations. You threw yourself into the physical therapy sessions and learned how to take care of yourself. You got better, String, and, I guess you realised that you didn't need me. I was happy for you. Proud of you," her cheeks began to colour very becomingly once more, then she dropped her head, briefly.

"Then what happened?" he asked her softly, squeezing her hand gently to coax her gaze back to his face.

"Eventually they discharged you," she told him, smiling softly. "You went to live with Dominic and Maria. I went back to my life and carried on in school."

"And then what?"

"We lost touch."

"Oh. But?"

"But, I never forgot you. You were the meanest, nastiest, feistiest, most 'ornery and most beautiful thing that I had ever seen in my life," she confessed, colour and heat creeping into her cheeks once more.

"And I admired and respected your guts and your gumption and your determination so much. I was head over heels in love with you, but, I knew, deep down inside, that to you, I was just that dumb kid who brought you comic books, and laughed at the funnies with you, who sang along to the Beach Boys on the radio, smuggled in the odd bottle of beer for you, just like I did for all the other boys in there. I knew I would never be anything more to you than that. I doubted very much that you would even remember my name after you'd been home for a month."

"What was your name?"

"Helen Maynard."

"Forgive me for interrupting, but obviously you were wrong. You must have meant much more to me than_** that**_?"

"Who's telling this, you or me?"

"You," he grinned apologetically then. "So, then what happened?"

"About two years later, in the spring of 1971, I was about to graduate High School that summer, and was busy applying to colleges for a place to do an English degree, some crazy idea in my head about becoming a teacher, because I had decided by then that nursing was definitely _**not**_ the route I wanted to go. Florence Nightingale I was not. Although, I did still visit the guys, at the VA Hospital. I guess it was the closest I could get to doing my bit, for the war effort."

"And?"

"We ran into each other again at the VA Hospital. I was on spring break from school, cramming for tests, and to stop myself from going crazy, I had gone back to do more voluntary work. Dominic and Maria had saved enough money to hire a really good surgeon to remove the bullet from your spine, and you were admitted to the ward where I was doing my voluntary work. We were both older. I was dating a nice guy from school …. Nothing serious, but," she blushed furiously again then. "But, when I saw you, I forget everything and everybody."

"Was I still a mean sonofa …."

"No, no. You'd grown up. Moved on. You'd come to terms with St John's death, and with the possibility that you might never walk again. You were more contented in your own skin. You actually treated me like a human being, and, well, we renewed our friendship. We grew close. And when you were discharged from the hospital, we agreed to keep in touch. As friends."

"I graduated High School. You even came along. Teased the hell out of me when you saw me in my graduation get up," she chuckled, then, grew serious again.

"Once you were up and about and on your feet again, you decided that you wanted to make flying your life, and so you enrolled in college too and went back to school to do degrees in aeronautical engineering and aero dynamics, and then you had your heart set on becoming a test pilot. We wrote to each other for a while. Saw each other at weekends, when we were both in town, when we had the time. Nothing serious, nothing heavy. Just two friends having dinner now and again, maybe going to a movie. But, pretty soon you were caught up in you career. You were good at it too. The youngest, and best damned test pilot, outside of the military. Too damned good. After Vietnam and everything you'd been through afterward, you seemed to think that you were bullet proof, unbreakable, that nothing could touch you, hurt you, because you'd already been close to death and survived," she paused for a moment and Hawke could see that she was debating with herself just how honest to be with him.

"I tried not to care too much," she said at last, on a deep sigh. "I tried not to worry over you, telling myself that I didn't have the right, that I was nothing to you and you were nothing to me. But, in the end, I had to admit that I loved you. That I cared about you, too much, and I couldn't bear it any more. I couldn't bear the thought that one day, Dominic, or maybe even some stranger, might call and tell me that you'd crashed. Been killed. So, when I got my degree, I went on to secretarial school for a year, told myself to forget you, get over you and move on, that it wasn't my job to care for you. Love you. You had family to do that, and you obviously didn't think of my as anything more than a friend. A surrogate sister. And then, when I graduated from secretarial school, I took a job in New York, with a law firm. By which time, we had lost touch completely," she told him sadly.

"So how did we finally get together?"

"Fate, I guess," she smiled gently at him then.

"Huh?" he frowned.

"We ran into each other at JFK airport, in New York, on a snowy Tuesday evening, both trying to get back to LA. November 1974. It was Thanks Giving and Skyler was getting married that same weekend. You were going home for the vacation, and for the wedding. I didn't have any family to go home to, but one of my foster mothers had called and asked me to spend the weekend with her. She was sick, and was trying to catch up with all the kids she had fostered over the years …. To say goodbye. She had been kind to me, and I remembered her with more fondness than some of the others, so …. You and I bumped into each other in the check in line …. Literally …. Angry as hell at being told that the flight was over booked, you spun around and threw your coffee all over me."

"Oops …."

"Not very romantic, I agree …. But, you dried me off, and took me out for dinner, and kept apologizing, and then the next day we turned up at the check in for the last flight out, before the vacation and managed to get seats next to each other. We spent the whole flight back to the West Coast laughing, and teasing each other about the days in the VA Hospital, and when we landed in LA, you finally worked up enough courage to ask me if I would like to go out for dinner, and the rest is history."

"I know there's more to it than _**that**_," Hawke eyed her curiously.

"Oh, yeah. _**Lots**_ more, but _**you're**_ going to have to remember _**that**_ for yourself, my love," she smiled charmingly at him.

"Spoil sport. So when did we finally tie the knot?"

"June 21, 1976. My twenty third birthday."

"So we didn't rush into anything then?" He grinned boyishly then.

"Hell, no. I'd loved you forever, Stringfellow Santini, but you had this crazy idea in your head that you didn't deserve my love, that your career was too dangerous, and there was no place in your life for a wife. You came up with every excuse in the damned book, and then made up a few more of your own, but, I wore you down in the end," she chuckled.

"I just kept loving you, and waiting for you to realise that I wasn't going to go away. I knew that in time you would realise that there was more to life than risking your neck in the next generation of military jet, or helo or cargo plane. I knew that you would come to me when you were good and ready, and, finally, when you got tired of being an adrenalin junkie, and you'd gotten all that damned thrill seeking out of your system, you did. But, of course, then you didn't want to wait any longer, and wanted to rush me down the aisle."

"And did I?"

"No. I wanted a proper wedding. You wanted to drive to Las Vegas, and grab someone off the street as a witness, but, I knew that that would kill Papa Dominic and Maria, so I insisted on a proper wedding. Dom's cousin, in Napa, offered us a house on his vineyard for our honeymoon, so we decided to have the wedding there too, after all, most of Dom's relatives were already there. So, we had a beautiful, traditional Italian wedding, on the most beautiful summer's day, June 21, 1976. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present."

"You'll have to show me the pictures."

"Oh yeah, there are lots of pictures. _**Lots**_ of pictures, from _**all**_ the important events in our lives, String. Back home, at the house in LA," she closed her eyes for a moment, and drew in a soft breath. "And you owe me a dinner, Mr Santini."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do. You slept through our …. Eleventh …. wedding anniversary."

"So I did," he reached out for her hand then, drawing her gaze back to his face. "Tell me about the kids," he suddenly grew shamefaced at not being able to remember their names.

"Dom Junior, Christopher and Lucy."

He nodded apologetically.

"Dom Junior is eight, Christopher just turned five, and Lucy is two and a half."

"Any reason why we waited so long?" Hawke asked, after making the mental calculation that they had been married for three years, before their first son had been born.

"No. Not really," she grew shy then and this caused Hawke to frown. "It just didn't happen. Not for the longest time, although the doctors told us that there was nothing to worry about, and then, just when we were on the point of giving up, I fell pregnant at last, but then I lost the baby, at four months. The doctors said we should try again, straight away, but, it still took another year before I got pregnant with Dom Junior," Hawke squeezed her hand, as he heard the pain and the grief in her voice.

"I lost another baby, between Dom Junior and Christopher. This time I went almost five months. It took us both a long time to get over that," the sadness in her voice told Hawke just how hard the loss had been for her to accept.

"But then I had Christopher, and we were happy with our little family, and then, out of the blue, along came Lucy, and now this little one."

"Dom says he thinks it's a boy."

"I know, but he said that when I was carrying Lucy!" she grinned. "I would like another girl," she confided then. "But, whichever it turns out to be, I couldn't love it any more than I do right now," she ran her hand slowly over her swollen abdomen.

"I can't wait to meet him, or her," she smiled shyly again and Hawke felt his heart constrict in his chest. "And I can't wait to have you home."

From the way she said the words, Hawke knew that she was counting on everything going back to the way it was, once he was home.

Back to normal.

That things would soon settle back into their usual routine, and life would go on as usual.

That she was holding onto the notion like a drowning man holding on to a life preserver.

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"Plenty, my love, but, the only thing you really _**need **_to know right now, and to accept, and _**believe**_, is, we were," she faltered, and then corrected herself quickly. "We _**are**_, happy. We are contented. We have a good marriage, a strong marriage, based on love, affection, trust and respect and friendship. We _**like**_ each other, as well as love each other, and we both want the same things in life. For our children. For ourselves. The rest, well, the rest is waiting for you to discover for yourself, back home."

"Home," but he was thinking about the cabin beside Eagle Lake, not a house in the suburbs of Los Angeles that he had never seen.

"It will all be all right, String. Just you wait and see."

Hawke found himself nodding, unable to find the right words, wishing he felt as confident as she appeared, that things would resolve themselves in a way that would satisfy both of them.

"Well love, I'd better get back, else Papa Dominic will be on the verge of a nervous breakdown by the time I get home. He's wonderful with the kids, but they can be a bit of a handful after a while."

She stood up carefully then and leaned down to plant a warm, soft, sweet, kiss to his lips once more, her fingers gently reaching out to push a stray tendril of hair which had fallen over his brow once more.

"You need a haircut, my love," she was smiling softly when she pulled away from him at last,.

"First order of business, when I get out here," he agreed. "Helen …."

"Yes, love?"

"I'm glad we talked."

"Me too," she smiled happily at him now. "Maybe when you are feeling a bit stronger, I could bring the kids in again?"

"I'd like that."

"I'll have to check with Dr Coleman first," he nodded again. "And I'll try to find out when they plan to let you out of here."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that. I really need a change of scenery. This place is beginning to creep me out."

"Ok, I don't know if I have any influence, but, I'll try," she smiled gently then, and it occurred to Hawke that he should maybe have said something about wanting to be home with her and the kids, but it was too late now.

She had withdrawn from him, emotionally, and now she was gently pulling her hand out of his grip, as she reached out to pick up the wicker basket of food and deposited it on top of his bedside locker.

"Just in case you feel peckish later," she said, by way of explanation, and then she was walking cross the room toward the door, and Stringfellow Hawke knew that his clumsiness had hurt her, and he felt like kicking himself.

It had been going so well up to that point.

"Helen," his voice stopped her, just as she was reaching out to open the door, and she turned around slowly to regard him with curiosity. "Tell Dr Coleman," he hesitated, for a moment, then added, "Tell him that I really want to go home."

"I'll be sure to do that, String. See you again soon."

And with that she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Monday mid morning.**_

"Well Doc?" Stringfellow Hawke fixed the older man with a steely, impatient blue glare. "What do you say?" he prompted, watching as Dr Marcus Coleman scrutinised his medical charts, in silence. "Doc?"

Coleman finally looked up from his file and regarded his patient with gentle eyes.

"Helen said that you were chomping on the bit to get out of here."

"Doc, you must all be so sick of me! I'll just bet you can't wait to toss me outta here." Hawke grinned, hopefully.

"Well," Coleman let out a deep sigh. "I have to admit that you are something of a disruptive influence around here. Got all the senior floor nurses complaining that they can't get any sense out of the younger girls. Wondering around the place with love struck looks on their faces. Sighing and gazing adoring at your door, as they find some excuse or another to walk past," he chuckled and Hawke pulled a sour face.

"So what are you waiting for, doc? Besides, I am assured that I do have a home to go to. And I would really like to see it …. Before I turn forty!" Hawke joked again now.

"Patience my boy," But Coleman was smiling at him now, and Hawke began to see a glimmer of hope. "There's no denying that you have made a remarkable recovery. Physically, you're in good shape. A little more physical therapy wouldn't hurt, maybe work out with them an exercise regime that you can follow at home, to strengthen those leg muscles. Looking at your notes here, there's nothing to concern us in your blood work, you seem to have gotten your appetite back with no ill effects, your EEG and EKG scans all came back within normal ranges, and the X rays all show that bones have knitted perfectly," he let out a soft sigh then. "So, it looks like I really can't justify keeping you here any longer."

"Yeah!" Hawke punched the air joyfully.

"I guess that means you're pleased?" Coleman chuckled softly at his patient's antics. "Of course, the memory loss is still a concern to us, but Dr Walker seems to think that you are coping with it much better now, and, that given time, in the right environment, your memory will return. To what extent, he can only guess, but, he thinks you will retain most of the memories from before the crash, if not the incident it's self. Dr Walker is arranging for you to see a colleague of his, in Los Angeles," he paused briefly then. "Although, Helen was telling me that you don't plan on leaving Elkington until after she delivers. Wise decision," he smiled then.

"It's probably the best thing, for both of you. We can keep an eye on you for a little while longer, as an out patient, and if you should need us, for any reason, we're not that far away."

"Does that mean that I'm outta here?" Hawke pressed, eager for an answer now.

"I guess so."

"When?" he demanded now.

"Well now, you have physical therapy appointments arranged for the rest of the week, sessions with Dr Walker too, and we should really give Helen and Dominic a chance to get used to the idea that you will finally be coming home. There will be arrangements to be made, the children to be told ."

"Ok, Doc, I hear all of that," Hawke sighed softly, trying to hide his impatience. "But, when?"

"How about, Friday?" Dr Coleman grinned happily.

"Friday sounds just great to me, doc!" Hawke grinned broadly, his relief evident in his expression.

"Is it really so bad in here?" Coleman arched an eyebrow, but he was only teasing the younger man. Secretly he was very pleased that his patient was so impatient to get out into the big wide world and begin to live the life that he was meant to have.

It was the most positive reaction he could have hoped for from the young man.

"No doc, just a whole lot better out there. Like everyone keeps telling me, I won't get to remembering who I really am, and what I do, until I get out there and find out, experience it again."

"Very true, my boy. Just don't expect too much too soon. From yourself, or the people who love you. It is going to seem strange, to all of you for a while," Coleman advised. "Take each day as it comes. Good, and bad alike. That's my advice to you, and, when you are good and ready, it will all make sense to you."

"I sure hope so, doc. I sure hope so."

However, at that moment, nothing could mar Hawke's relief and pleasure at the thought of getting out of this hospital room, breathing real fresh air instead of the recycled stuff that came through the air conditioning system, and to feel the warmth of the sun on his face once more.

And to take whatever opportunities came his way to find out, once and for all, who he really was.

Rid him self of this notion that this was all some elaborate ruse, designed to part him from Airwolf. That some unseen foe, was manipulating him, and pulling the strings.

Or confirm it.

He needed to know _**which**_ Stringfellow_** he**_ really was, and which life he fitted into.

If he was Hawke, then he would fight tooth and nail to get away and get help.

And, if he was Santini?

Then he would accept that on face value. Accept that everything he had been told and everything that he could see and feel and hear and taste and touch, were indeed real.

But, not until he had definitive proof.

It would take something special to make him believe it.

And he could not get over the feeling that the truth lay out there, beyond these four hospital walls, and soon, he would have all the time he needed to pursue the truth, wherever it may lead him.

_**Monday – early evening.**_

"Would you get that please, Papa Dominic?" Helen Santini called out from the kitchen as she heard the telephone ringing out in the hallway. "I can't leave this right now …."

She was stirring a deliciously aromatic, meat and tomato sauce to accompany the spaghetti that was bubbling away cheerfully on the back burner of the stove. The kitchen was also filled with the smell of garlic, as thick slices of crusty Italian bread, lavishly smeared with garlic butter, browned gently in the oven.

"Sure thing, honey!" Dominic Santini called back cheerfully and a few seconds later the telephone stopped ringing.

Helen Santini continued to concentrate on preparing their evening meal, keeping one eye on her boys as they played boisterously out in the back yard, whilst adding just a little more seasoning to the meat sauce.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed as Dominic Santini appeared in the open kitchen doorway, Lucy Santini straddled around his huge waist, and held in place by his big, sure arms, a tattered rag book of nursery rhymes in her clenched fist as she gazed adoringly, with big green eyes, up into her doting grandfather's smiling face.

"That was Doc Coleman," Dominic began, and immediately Helen's head shot up and she turned away from the pan of gently simmering food to regard him with big, anxious green eyes.

"Hey, steady kid, he's ok," Dominic assured her, taking in the fear in her eyes. "The doc just called to tell us that they're letting String come home …. Friday!" he grinned.

"Friday?" Helen's eyes grew wider in her slightly flushed face. "Oh my! So soon? So much to do! Cleaning up around here, groceries to buy …."

"Wow, kid, slow down," Dominic chuckled, and then watched in consternation, as Helen Santini's composure crumbled completely and her chin began to wobble, as tears cascaded down her cheeks. "Helen?"

"He's coming home? He's really coming home?" she sobbed and sniffed and setting down the spoon that she had been using to stir the hot food in the pan on the stove, swatted at her tears, as they continued to stream down her face, trying valiantly to smile all at the same time.

"Yeah, honey, he's really coming home," Dominic Santini, still cradling Lucy in one arm, marched quickly across the kitchen, turned out the heat beneath the pan of meat sauce on the stove and then gathered Helen Santini into his other arm, feeling a lump rising in his own throat as he did so.

"Our boy is really coming home," he held on to her shaking body, knowing that this particular storm of tears was caused by relief.

Relief that finally, at long last, their ordeal was over, and they would all be together again.

One big, happy, family.

Lucy Santini's happy shouts and giggles brought her curious brother's running to the kitchen from the yard and after learning that their Daddy was coming home in just a few days, pretty soon they were dancing around their mother and grandfather, shouting and laughing happily.

"Daddy's coming home! Daddy's coming home!" they sang out, as they jigged around the homely kitchen filled with the delicious aromas of their home cooked family dinner.

As she watched Dominic Santini dancing around the kitchen with his grandchildren fussing around him, Helen Santini's tears melted away and she began to smile radiantly.

It was all going to be all right.

String was coming home.

_**Home.**_

At last.

Where he belonged. With the family who adored him.

He would soon be well and strong, and once he was settled and back into some kind of routine, the memories would come flooding back.

She was sure of it.

She simply could not allow herself to believe anything else.

Nothing was going to spoil her happiness at that moment, and as the gang of dancers circled around her, she took Dominic Santini's hand, and grabbed Christopher's small mitt in her own as he passed her, and began to dance around the kitchen with them, laughing gaily.

"Hey, take it easy kid, remember the baby," Dominic warned gently, but secretly he was glad to see her smiling now, and found himself offering up a silent prayer that all their tears were finally over and done with.

Except, tears of happiness that was.

May there be plenty more of those in the days to come ….

_**Friday - mid morning.**_

"What?" Stringfellow Hawke asked with a frown, in response to the pained look on Dominic Santini's face, as he stepped out of the small bathroom adjoining his hospital room.

It had felt a little strange to him, at first, to discard the comfortable and familiar pyjamas, and to pull on his street clothes for the first time in what for him, felt like only a few days, but for Stringfellow Santini would have been almost five months.

However, once dressed, he had to admit that it felt good to be wearing the soft denim blue jeans, pale blue shirt and blue and white checkered sweater that Helen had sent in a holdall with Dominic. She had added a quaint blue neck tie, which he had opted not to wear, baby blue socks, soft black leather loafers and to complete the outfit, a lightweight padded black waterproof jacket, which Dominic had draped casually over the foot of the bed when he had arrived.

The clothes were a little big, especially the jeans, but Helen had also thoughtfully provided a narrow black leather belt to hold them up.

He had obviously lost a few pounds since he had been here. Not surprising, he reasoned. If, he was really Stringfellow Santini, then four months in a coma would almost certainly result in weight loss and loss of conditioning and muscle tone, and since his awakening, he hadn't found the hospital food much to his taste, although Helen's thoughtfully packed baskets of food had tempted his taste buds and helped to stimulate his appetite.

"What?" he demanded again now as Dominic Santini continued to frown at him, trying to work out what exactly the look on his face was meant to convey. "What? What?"

He followed Santini's gaze then, glancing down at his clothes once more and then back up at Dominic Santini, realising immediately what was bothering Dominic.

"Geez, son," Dominic sighed softly, unable to conceal the shock in his voice. "I got so used to seeing you lying in that bed," he paused to clear his throat then. "Maybe you want to think about tightening your belt a little more, or else those pants will be down around your ankles before we get to the parking lot," he suggested, somewhat ruefully, and Hawke automatically reached for the belt around his waist and cinched it tighter by a notch.

"Sorry, son. Guess I just never realised how much weight you lost lying there," Santini apologised gruffly and Hawke walked slowly over to him and put his hand gently on the older man's shoulder, smiling softly at him in understanding.

"You were never a big guy, but," Santini coughed again to clear his throat. "The sooner we get you home and get some meat back on those bones the better."

"A couple of weeks of Helen's cooking, and I'll soon have me a belly like yours," String teased. "Sure you're not expecting another little addition to the family?" he joked, grinning broadly at the expression on Dominic Santini's dear face, as he reached out and gently patted the older man's ample belly. "Hey, I think it kicked me!"

"Wise mouth! _**I'll**_ kick you, all the way from here, to Boston, if you don't quit that!" Santini growled playfully now, and then reached out to hand his son his coat, which had been lying across the foot of the bed. "Ready, son?"

"Yeah, I just need to get my toothbrush and shaving stuff," Hawke made to walk back toward the bathroom.

"No, son, I don't mean that," Hawke turned back to regard the older man and saw the look on his face. "I mean, are you ready?"

"Yeah, Dom."

Hawke let out a deep sigh.

He knew what the older man meant.

Out there, beyond these four walls, beyond the hospital grounds, things were going to be very different. He was going to be confronted with a lot of things that his stay in hospital had offered him a little protection against.

Out there was the real world.

Real life.

Dominic Santini was naturally a little concerned that his son might not yet be ready to face that much reality.

However, Stringfellow Hawke had done nothing but think about what lay beyond these four hospital walls, and was curious to find out more about Stringfellow Santini and his life.

"I'm ready. I've never been more ready," he assured the older man now. "I've thought about nothing else all week, and yes, although I have to admit that it's a little scary, I know that I can't stay here for the rest of my life. So, it's time I got back in the saddle and found out more about the man that I am," he took the black padded jacket from Santini then and shrugged into it.

"I know it's not going to be easy, Dom," he turned away then and walked back into the bathroom, to collect the last of his belongings, including his toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving gear.

"Things in this life seldom are," he reappeared in the bathroom doorway then. "And the worthwhile things are often the toughest to deal with, but, I'm ready, Dom. I have to get out there, and live whatever life I find, mostly because I can't do anything else, and I am certainly not ready to die just yet, too damned stubborn and 'ornery and curious. There's still so much that I want to see, and do, Dom," he walked over to the bed then and began to stow away his things, checking that he had everything else, neatly folded into the holdall.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, son," Santini smiled now. "We all know that it ain't gonna be plain sailing, but …."

"We'll work through it, Dom. We're family."

"Yeah. So would it kill ya to call me Dad, once in a while? I've kinda missed it …."

"Ok …. Dad," String smiled cheerfully then, although the word still felt alien and uncomfortable on his lips.

However, he could instantly see the pleasure the simple gesture brought to Dominic Santini.

"So, what are we waiting for!" Dominic Santini reached out then and scooped up his son's bag, then slipped his other arm around Hawke's shoulder and began to guide him toward the door.

"Dom, er …. Dad," Hawke faltered, briefly, as they approached the door.

"What son?"

"How's Helen? I mean …. Er, do you think _**she's**_ ready for this?"

"Son, she's never been more ready! The house shines like a new pin. She laundered just about anything she could get her hands on, including the bills in my wallet!" Santini chuckled at his own joke then, and Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"She cooked enough to feed several thousand Dodgers fans, and threatened the kids with San Quentin, if they even so much as breathed out of place," Santini continued to grin. "She's ready son, believe me. She's waited for this day for so long."

"No sign of the baby coming yet?"

"No, not a one, although, she's been fussin' around the house like the proverbial mother hen, fixing and cleaning. Nesting, I think they call it. Seems to me she was exactly the same way with Dom Junior. You still worried about being there when the baby is born?"

"Not worried, Dom, I mean, Dad. Just a little …. Uncomfortable," Hawke confided. "I don't want to let her down, but, I can't help feeling that I really don't have the right to be there. Not to mention the fact, that, I can't guarantee that I won't faint dead away, just when she needs me most of all."

"So, you _**do**_ remember being there when Dom Junior was born!" Dominic Santini chuckled at the precious look on his son's face. "Thought I'd save _**that one,**_ for the big day."

"What? Oh no! I didn't?" Hawke gaped at Dominic Santini in painful embarrassment, only to find the older man nodding gently back at him, as he wrestled to fight a losing battle to grin. "I did," Hawke groaned. "I did?" Santini nodded. "Oh God!" Hawke groaned again. "Tell me you're kidding, right?"

"No, son. How the mighty oak did fall," Santini chuckled softly at the precious look on the younger man's face. "Of course, I wasn't there, but the way Helen tells it, you turned a very pretty shade of green, and folded up like a rag doll. Like a puppet with its strings cut, just as Dom Junior made his appearance!" Santini chuckled then.

"Big, strong, tough guy like you, bent over like an ear of corn in a breeze. Of course, Helen wasn't very amused at the time, but, she can laugh about it now. You handled it much better, when Christopher came along, and by the time Lucy arrived, you were a seasoned veteran. So, you see son, whatever happens, you and Helen have already been there, and done that."

"But, I don't remember," String protested.

"It doesn't matter. You really don't have anything to worry about, or to be embarrassed about, String," Santini reached out and squeezed his son's shoulder affectionately now. "You have a loving, understanding, and very tolerant wife, kid, and she'll still love you, even if you _**do**_ faint dead away!" He clapped his son jovially on the back then.

"It's part and parcel of life and love and having a family, son. In many ways, I envy you. I never had that. Not unless you count the night you and Sky were born. I never had the chance to watch _**my **_child being born. Who's to say that _**I**_ wouldn't have keeled over too?" Dominic confided, slipping his arm around his son's shoulders once more.

"You remember what a calm, strong, placid man Steven was? Fought in two wars, saw all kinds of hell and never batted an eyelid. Well, not when St John, and you and Sky came along. Why else do you think he ate all of those cigarettes? And he didn't even have to be in the room with Connie!" Santini grinned.

"If you ask me, they would have been sweeping Steven up with the trash, if he had had to actually see any one of you, pop out! Oxygen and pethadin, would have been for _**him**_, not your Mom. Tough as old boots was Connie, and a good thing too, else there wouldn't have been any more baby Hawke's after St John , if she had been as weak stomached as Steven."

"Some things are just _**too**_ overwhelming, but, embarrassment or no, I still wouldn't have missed if for the world, son. What's a little dent in my ego, compared to seeing my child come into the world?"

"I guess you're right, Dad."

"And what does it matter if a few doctors and nurses find it amusing to see you turn up your toes? You wouldn't be the first guy to react like that. You don't have to live with them. Helen is the only one that matters, and I know how much she wants you to be there. So that you and this baby get the same start in life as the other's did."

He regarded his son with steady, serious grey eyes now.

"And even if you do keel over, Helen won't think any the worse of you, son. She loves you, no matter what," Santini assured. "She just doesn't want you to regret not being there, for this little one, is all."

Hawke found himself nodding now.

What Dominic was saying made perfect sense.

_**If **_he was Stringfellow Santini, and this _**was his**_ child.

But, he could not stop the nagging doubt at the back of his mind that he wasn't Stringfellow Santini and that he had no right to be involved in this child's birth.

Or, the lives of the other Santini children.

No matter how much he might want it.

And he _**did **_want it.

_**More than he had ever thought possible.**_

"You and Helen will work something out when the time comes," Santini sighed softly, taking in the uncertain expression on his son's face, knowing that he had given him much to think about.

"Let's get you home."

"Home," Hawke nodded.

"At least you won't have to worry about the kids bouncing all over you. Helen asked Mrs Randall, her neighbour, to take them for the day so that you would have a chance to get settled. They can be a bit of a handful, especially all together, but they're real angels most of the time."

_**This**_ Dominic Santini sounded so proud of his brood of grandchildren, Stringfellow Hawke felt a moment of sadness and regret for his old friend. That _**His**_ Dominic had missed out on having grandchildren of his own.

Not that the older man had ever actually said anything.

Except the odd less than subtle hint that _**he**_ should have a brood of kids himself, Hawke thought ruefully to himself.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, Dad. Take me home."

"My pleasure, son. My pleasure."

The house was nothing elaborate, a suburban semi detached in a good neighbourhood, with three medium sized bedrooms, a neatly manicured front lawn with a strip of blacktop for a driveway and fenced in backyard for the kids to play in.

Stringfellow ….

_**No last name, for now, he had decided …. **_At least until he was sure _**which**_ last name truly belonged to him ….

Stringfellow, regarded the property without emotion, as Dominic Santini pulled up in the driveway. It was modest and obviously functional, but, in all honesty, he did not think that after the simple rustic beauty of the Eagle Lake cabin, it was something that he would have chosen for himself.

Indeed, although the sleepy little town of Elkington was picturesque and pleasant enough in its own way, String knew that it was not a place that he would have chosen to live in. He liked peace and quiet and solitude, when it suited him, but, there were also times when he craved a little excitement and the bright lights of Los Angeles provided him with enough distractions when he needed to relax and take his mind off more serious things.

However, Elkington, and this house, were to be his home for the time being, and he just had to accept that.

Dominic Santini hurried him out of the jeep, cajoling him as he retrieved his overnight bag from the back seat, and slung his arm casually around the younger man's shoulders, and guided him up to the front door, which Helen Santini opened, wearing a soft smile, her big green eyes full of anticipation ….

And something else.

Uncertainty?

_**Which **_Stringfellow was she welcoming into her home?

Her arms.

Her heart.

She pressed soft, sweet, warm lips to his cheek as he crossed the threshold, but made no other romantic gesture, did not even offer him a 'welcome home', instead she slipped her arm through his and while Dominic Santini took his bag upstairs, gave String a conducted tour of the ground floor of the house.

Firstly the lounge room, on the front, off the vestibule, with a brick fireplace and comfortable but worn furniture. The room was tastefully decorated and a reasonable size, light and airy, overlooking the lawn and the street out front.

There were several small photographs lined up on the wooden mantle shelf over the fireplace, which he guessed had never been used for a real fire, and he picked each of them up, curious.

A smiling Stringfellow Santini, in his Airline Captain's uniform, hat tucked under his arm, as he smiled brightly for the camera, looking handsome, and proud, and super confident.

Stringfellow and Helen, at the beach, laughing happily. Windswept and tanned, holding each other close.

Dominic Junior, Christopher and Lucy, paddling in the surf on a secluded golden beach, with Helen holding tightly onto the two smaller children's chubby little hands.

Happy, family, photos depicting a happy, family, life.

Helen Santini watched her husband as he handled each of the photographs, and tried to hide her disappointment when not so much as a flicker of recognition crossed his handsome, chiselled features.

_**He still did not remember.**_

The beach photographs had only been taken a few weeks before the crash that had put him in the coma, at their small, secluded, private beach in Malibu. A precious Sunday, the one day he could generally count on being at home with his family.

They had taken a picnic down to the beach and splashed in the foamy surf, made mud pies and built sandcastles with moats and turrets, and made up stories about fairy princesses being held prisoner inside, by ogres or evil princes with dragons guarding the gates, waiting for their handsome prince Charmings' to come to their rescue, on their elegant, dashing white horses.

String had taken out his surf board for the first time in ages and had lost himself in the thrill and exhilaration of being one with the board and the water, and she had watched him with a mixture of terror and pride at his skill and bravery.

And later, when she had settled the kids down, for their afternoon nap ….

Helen closed her eyes briefly and drew in a soft, shallow breath.

She couldn't think about that now.

It was a lifetime away.

Two different people.

Helen watched as he replaced each of the pictures on the mantle, then walked up to join him, slipping her arm through his once more, and guided him out of the lounge room, down the hallway to the dining room, which was smaller than the lounge room, and had old, dark, heavy furniture in it, but was redeemed by a large picture window that gave a splendid view of the back yard with its neat lawn and flower beds, and the kids sandbox and swing set.

Next was the den, and he immediately guessed that this was where the kids spent most of their time, when they were forced to play indoors, for there were comic books, toy soldiers, toy cars and stuffed animals lying on the floor and on the small sofa, which was positioned in front of a small portable television set.

Finally Helen guided him to the back of the house and the pretty kitchen which smelled of pine detergent and freshly brewed coffee. There was a small loaf of freshly baked bread, cooling on a wire rack on the counter beside the cooker, and a plate of freshly baked oat cookies on the kitchen table, along side three mugs and the pot of coffee.

Dominic Santini had already made himself comfortable at the table, a mug of the aromatic coffee in one hand and cookie crumbs around his lips and down his shirtfront.

Helen busied herself with pouring out coffee for herself and String and then sat down at the kitchen table, and immersed herself in watching her husband as he and Dominic caught up on old times.

String didn't contribute much to the conversation, she noted, letting Dom do most of the talking, probably because he still couldn't remember anything of his life before, but he was smiling along with the older man, as Dominic laughed about some prank that he and Steven Hawke had gotten into, while serving in the Army Air Force in the Second World War.

It seemed just like old times.

_**Almost.**_

And finally, Helen Santini allowed herself to relax.

He was home.

He looked well.

A little pale, after months in a hospital room without fresh air and sunlight, but she knew that that would soon pass and he would be more like his old self again.

He was home. That was the most important thing.

She felt the baby inside her belly stir, and laid a warm, comforting hand against her swollen abdomen, smiling softly to herself.

It wouldn't be long now.

The child within was growing restless.

Impatient.

She recognised the signs.

_**Soon, little one, very soon.**_

_**Now that Daddy's home.**_

"I'd better be going," Dominic Santini announced after his third cookie and second mug of coffee. "You guys must want some time alone."

"Why don't you stay to dinner, Papa Dom?" Helen invited, watching String's face as she saw the look of hesitation settle there, and realised that he must be feeling a little nervous about being alone with her at last. "There's plenty, and the kids will be disappointed if they miss you," she concluded, throwing her husband a look that said she understood.

_**No expectations.**_

_**No pressures.**_

_**No need to rush into anything..**_

_**There was so much for him to take in..**_

_**She could wait.**_

And it was obvious that Dominic Santini did not want to let his son out of his sight just yet. That he had waited so long for this day to dawn, he meant to milk it for all that it was worth.

_**So why not indulge the old coot?**_

She saw String nod very gently in response to her look, and knew that he understood.

"Well," Santini hesitated, desperately wanting to stay and see the kids and spend some quality time with his son, but also aware that these two young people needed time alone, to get used to each other again.

"Go on, Dom, er, Dad," String smiled softly in encouragement. "We could make it a big family welcome home dinner."

"If you're sure?"

"We're sure." String and Helen said in unison, and then grinned at each other, exchanging a look that said that they had all the time in the world.

"Well, thanks."

After coffee and cookies, the men retired to the lounge room to sit and talk, and Helen busied herself in the kitchen with fixing the family dinner. She had been to the grocery store and stocked up on everything that she might need to whet String's appetite, bearing in mind his no meat rule, and then she went up to their room and opened up his overnight bag, pulling out his pyjamas and robe, and took them down to the laundry room and threw them into the washing machine.

Mid afternoon saw the return of the Santini children who piled into the house in a flurry of excited noise and threw themselves firstly at their grandfather and then, somewhat shyly at first, at their father.

Somewhat overwhelmed, String sat with Lucy on one knee, and Christopher on the other, listening to their inane chatter and watching as Dominic Santini paraded around the lounge room with Dom junior on his back, braying loudly and bucking wildly like a donkey, and he could not hide his mirth at the older man's antics.

He could not recall ever seeing the older man like that before, but it was obvious that he was used to it, and that he was enjoying himself immensely.

Dinner was a huge success, although Helen Santini could not help noticing that her husband ate little, just sitting there, drinking in the sight of Dominic Santini, at the head of the table, holding court with his grandchildren, more than making up for what String did not eat, with several helpings of dessert.

However, as the evening progressed, Helen could see that String was getting tired. He was losing concentration and his eyes seemed heavy, as though he were struggling to stay awake, and after several subtle hints, Dominic Santini, understandably reluctant to let this happy day end, finally kissed each of his grandchildren goodnight as they settled in bed at last, after one last bedtime story, and then after giving his beloved son a strong bear hug, and a penetrating look as they stood on the front doorstep, Dominic turned his attention to his beautiful daughter in law, and pulled Helen to him in a tight hug.

"Thanks for today, honey. It's been great. Really great," he whispered into her hair, then dropped a soft kiss to the top of her head. "It'll be ok," he assured. "_**He'll**_ be ok."

"Yes, Papa Dominic. _**We'll**_ be ok," she reassured him in an equally soft voice now. "Come to lunch on Sunday?" she added for String's benefit, and saw him smile and nod his approval of her invitation.

"I'd love to, but, I think you guys need some time to yourselves," Dominic Santini sighed, then turned and walked out onto the drive way. "Call me if you need anything," he turned back to grin at her. "Especially, if my new grandchild decides to make an entrance!"

"Not long now, Dominic. Patience," she admonished lightly, then watched as he climbed into the jeep and backed out of the driveway, smiling softly to herself.

It had been a great day.

_**A wonderful day.**_

The best.

The Santini clan, all together again, at last. Laughing and joking around and being the happy, contented family they had always been.

Yes.

Indeed, it had been a wonderful day.

When she returned inside, after locking the front door, she found String in the kitchen, drying plates and stacking them up on the counter beside the sink.

"I didn't know where they lived," he waved the dish towel at her and then at the stack of plates.

"You didn't have to do that, honey."

"I know I didn't, but I wanted to. First normal thing I've done in months," he smiled softly at her. "Thank you for today."

"You're welcome. Why don't you leave those? I don't know about you, but I could use an early night …."

Helen Santini was suddenly startled by the look that crossed her husband's handsome face.

Embarrassment.

Shyness.

_**Oh boy!**_

Suddenly confronted with the idea of retiring for the night, he was embarrassed about their sharing a bed.

_**Dear God!**_

She could begin to see colour creeping into his cheeks now, as he began to blush.

"I'll take the couch."

"No you will not!" She told him defiantly.

"Helen, I …."

"String, look at me, I'm eight months pregnant, my belly is as big as a bowling ball and my ankles are like two fat salamis. I feel like a beached whale, and I can barely manage to waddle around like a duck! Do you really think I am in any condition to …. "

She grinned, coyly, then and watched more colour creep into his cheeks.

"Believe me, honey, the only thing on my mind tonight is sleep."

"But …. But …."

"We have to get things back to normal around here as quickly as we can, String. So, you take out the garbage, and I'll tidy away the dishes, and then, we'll climb up those stairs together and get ready for bed. Just like we do, every night. Just like we have done most every night, since we got married."

Her tone told him not to argue with her, and he supposed that she was right.

_**If**_ he _**was**_ Stringfellow Santini, sharing her bed would be the most natural thing in the world.

But, he still didn't know for sure that he _**was**_ Stringfellow Santini, and he felt awkward and shy about lying down beside her, so close.

_**So intimate.**_

"I think I can just about manage to keep my hands off you. Tonight," she grinned wickedly then. "I promise," she was teasing him now. "I don't know whether to be flattered, or, to be mad at you, for being so damned conceited. You're not that irresistible you know! But, if you have some excess energy," she crossed the room and took the dish towel from him, then turned him around and pointed him toward the trash can which was full to overflowing.

"That should bring you back down to earth, lover," she chuckled as she pushed him gently toward the trash can.

String let out a soft sigh and looked back at Helen Santini, long and hard.

She was a beautiful young woman, even in this advanced stage of pregnancy, sassy and funny and desirable.

And ….

She was …. his wife ….

_**Possibly his wife ….**_

_**Maybe..**_

Stringfellow made a decision there and then.

If, this was how things were going to be, then he would throw himself into it wholeheartedly, after all, it was the only way that he was going to get anything positive out of the experience.

And surely even he could control himself enough to spend the night with her.

Simply sleeping.

It was what married people the world over did. Every night.

_**Piece of cake.**_

It wasn't like he wasn't yearning to have her close, feel her body pressed close to his, his arms wound around her, holding her near ….

But what he wanted most from her at that moment was comfort.

Reassurance.

And, to be able to offer her the same things, in return.

Anything else that might happen between them, would only happen when they both wanted it. When they were both ready for it.

And certainly not before that precious new life came into the world.

They finished tidying the kitchen together, in companionable silence and then after locking the back door and switching off all the lights, they made their way up the stairs, String allowing Helen to use the bathroom first, to wash, undress and brush her teeth, while he slipped into freshly laundered pyjama bottoms, and neatly folded his clothes, as he sat on the edge of the Queen sized bed and waited for his turn in the bathroom.

Helen came out clad in a long white cotton nightgown, which fell to her feet in soft folds and was buttoned up tightly to her neck.

A statement, he wondered silently as he went into the bathroom and regarded his reflection in the mirror over the sink, as he squeezed toothpaste out of the tube.

_**I'm not sexy.. I don't feel sexy right now, and I'm not trying to trick you or trap you or lead you on.**_

When he returned to the bedroom, Helen was already neatly tucked up in the big bed, lying on her left side with her back to him, the lamp on her nightstand turned out.

He padded softly, on bare feet across the room and slipped into the bed beside her, keeping his distance as he pulled up the clean, crisp, sweet smelling sheets and reached out to slip off his watch, and then turn out the lamp on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

He lay on his back, quietly, in the darkness, just listening to the sound of her soft breathing, not sure if she was asleep yet, or just resting, and then, as though it were the most natural thing in all the world, Helen Santini turned over, now facing him, and reaching out with her hand, slid his left arm up over her head and around her shoulders and rested her head lightly on his chest, pressing soft, warm lips against his ribcage, before letting out a contented sigh and snuggling closer.

"Goodnight, love," hhe mumbled sleepily.

"Goodnight, Helen."

A few minutes later String became aware of her soft, regular breathing, fanning his chest, and he knew that she had fallen asleep.

Only then did he allow himself to rest his other arm around her warm body, and draw her even closer, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh, as he too allowed himself to relax and succumb to sleep.

_**If, **_this really _**was**_ his life ….

With this woman, and these children ….

Was it really so bad after all?

_**No.**_

_**No. It was wonderful.**_

And he could not help offering up a silent prayer, just before sleep claimed him, that soon he would learn that this really _**was**_ who he was, and what his life was all about.

That he really was Stringfellow Santini.

Because, the man was incredibly blessed.

_**Had he really known just what he had?**_

_**Had he really appreciated all the good things in his life?**_

Stringfellow Hawke did.

And hungered for those kinds of blessings, in his own life.

And at that moment, he would gladly trade places with Stringfellow Santini.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Monday – early hours of the morning.**_

Panting raggedly, Helen Santini lifted her head slowly and regarded her reflection in the mirror above the sink. What she saw there made her heart beat even more irregularly.

Pale, wan face, big old green eyes, filled with anxiety and pain.

Oh, yes.

Pain.

_**Lots of it.**_

_**Too much.**_

_**Way too much, for this early on.**_

_**Not like this before …. With any of the others. **_

_**She would remember.**_

Another pain roared through her abdomen, robbing her of breath once again, and she hung her head over the sink, feeling nauseous and dizzy, clutching at her belly, as another contraction ripped through her lower body.

She had woken a little while ago, feeling the need to use the bathroom, or so she had thought, and aware of a heaviness and deep aching sensation in her lower back and stomach. However as she had crossed the bedroom and made for the adjoining bathroom, trying not to disturb String, who looked so peaceful in slumber, a sharp pain had caused her to double over and gasp loudly in the darkness.

The bedside clock said that it was 2.45am.

She had staggered into the bathroom, just as her waters had broken, and had had to lean heavily against the sink, as she tried to draw in deep, cleansing, calming breaths and make her legs take her weight.

_**No.**_

_**Most definitely not like this before.**_

When she finally managed to look up once more, her reflection in the mirror over the sink frightened her.

She had been here before.

She knew what it was like to go into labor.

And this time, this time, she knew that it was different somehow.

She panted raggedly as she felt her stomach contract once more, and another pain robbed her of breath, creasing her over once again.

_**Something wasn't right!. **_Helen thought frantically to herself in the darkness.

This was different.

Too much pain, too soon.

It was all happening too fast.

The early stages of labor should have been less painful, and her waters shouldn't have broken just yet.

_**Oh God!**_

_**String!**_

Lurching awkwardly out of the bathroom, Helen Santini made her way carefully back out into the darkened bedroom, where her wonderful husband, home just these past two days, lay sleeping peacefully, and blissfully unaware of her plight.

_**Not for much longer!**_

"String," Helen gasped raggedly, leaning heavily against the bed as another pain tore through her and this time she could not keep the pain to herself, shouting out, as her stomach contracted and suddenly her legs would not hold her up.

"Helen?" String mumbled groggily, lifting his head slowly from his pillow, his eyelids still stuck together with sleep.

"String …. Owwwwwwwwwwww! " Helen gasped.

"Helen?"

"Don't just lie there!" She shrieked. "Owwwwwww!"

"The baby?"

String quickly came to his senses, reaching out to switch on the lamp on the nightstand beside their bed, flooding the bedroom with soft yellow light, and finding Helen Santini sitting in a most undignified position on the floor, legs spread wide open, clutching her belly, face red and wet from tears of pain and perspiration, as she panted in a very dramatic fashion.

"Genius! Of course, the baby! Why else would I be sitting here!" she yelled unreasonably. "Ouch! Owwwwwwwww! Owwwwwwwww!" she wailed loudly again.

Stringfellow was out of bed in a flash, dragging sheets and blankets after him, as he stumbled to the bottom of the bed and crouched down before Helen. Immediately her face contorted in a grimace of pain as she reached out for one of his hands and squeezed it with all her might, as another pain gripped her and she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out in agony.

Stringfellow took his bottom lip between his teeth too and waited out the pain, his fingers feeling like they had been clamped in a vice, white, bloodless, and throbbing violently as she continued to squeeze with all her might.

And he suddenly remembered what Dominic Santini had said, about the day their firstborn son had come into the world.

She had gripped his hand so tightly on that occasion, she had almost broken four of his fingers.

When she let go at last, String wrung his hand violently to try to get some feeling, other than pain, back into his hand, backing away from her, heading for the wardrobe and his pants.

"What should I do?" he asked in complete confusion, as he tried to pull on his pants, but somehow couldn't get his foot into the leg hole and was hopping erratically around the room.

"Don't panic," Helen told him between gasps for breath, trying not to laugh at the hilarious sight of him hopping around the room, now trying to jam both feet into the same leg hole. "Stand still, before you fall over and break your neck," she advised. "Ouch ….. Owwwww!"

"Bag?"

"Closet," she panted.

"Ok."

"String," she reached out for his hand one more time, and he came to kneel down beside her.

"It's ok," he reassured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"No," She panted breathlessly, her eyes wide and filled with anxiety.

"We'll get you to the hospital," he tried to pull his hand out of her grip now, his fingers throbbing and tingling painfully as blood flow was restored to the tips.

"No …. No time," she gasped out, eyes frantic now.

Now, as he looked into her face more closely, String could see panic and fear in Helen Santini's deep green eyes, and it made his heart lurch in his chest.

"What do you mean, no time?" he demanded, hoarsely, fully awake now and feeling his stomach tying its self in knots.

"Too fast …. Happening too fast," she explained on a low, hissed breath between contractions.

"Oh, God!"

"Stay calm," she warned him, realising that it would not take much for him to lose it, and she needed him.

"That's easy for you to say!" he exclaimed, then took another look at the expression on her precious face and knew that it was anything _**but**_ easy.

"Deep breath, " she told him sternly.

"You, too," he gave her a cockeyed half smile then, telling himself to get a grip.

_**He could do this.**_

_**He was going to have to do this.**_

The baby was coming, full steam ahead, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

So, he had better get a grip and concentrate on helping Helen.

"I need you to be calm, String …."

"I know …. Ok," he drew in a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out again slowly.

"Again."

"Ok, Ok," he muttered impatiently, but did as he was told, and immediately began to feel a little better. "Tell me what to do."

"Call Mrs Randall …."

"Mrs Randall?"

"Neighbour …. Lady across the street …. Used to be a midwife," Helen explained.

"Why don't I just call an ambulance?"

"No time …. This baby is coming, _**now**_ …. I need help, _**now**_, String …."

"Oh boy!" his beautiful blue eyes grew wide in his pale face, and Helen watched him swallow, hard.

"Hurry!" she prompted. "Owwwwww!" she wailed again her, chin going down toward her chest as she tried to ease the pain by moving forward. "I need to push!"

"The hell you do!" String bellowed.

"Oh, yes, I do …." she replied angrily. "And don't swear at me, Stringfellow Santini! This is all your damned fault anyway!" she raged, somewhat irrationally, he couldn't help thinking.

"My fault?" String stared back at her incredulously.

"Yes, _**your**_ fault! Owwwww. Don't stand there arguing with me, idiot, _**do**_something!"

Helen Santini implored him with her eyes, then, her face crumpled as another pain shot through her and she moaned in agony.

String bolted for the door.

There was a telephone extension on the landing, he recalled, just outside their bedroom door and flicking on the landing light, he picked up the receiver and immediately came to a halt.

He had no idea who Mrs Randall was, much less what Mrs Randall's telephone number was and then he heard Helen shouting it out to him and he punched in the numbers quickly, with shaking fingers.

"Tell her, my waters have broken …. Tell her, I _**need to push**_ …. Tell her, to hurry, String …. Owwwww!! Hurry!" Helen yelled frantically, as he listened to the telephone line ringing out.

It was answered by a sleepy voice on the fourth ring.

"Mrs Randall, this is Stringfellow Haw …. Santini," he corrected himself quickly then. "Helen's in labor. She wants you to come. Her waters have broken. She says it's happening too fast …." he gabbled. "I don't know what to do …. Please come …. Please, come _**now**_ …."

"All right young fella, stay calm," the sleepy voice immediately sounded more commanding and awake. "How far apart are the contractions?"

"How should I know!"

"Oh boy! You have one simple job to do, and you can't even be trusted to do that," the old woman admonished. "Go time her contractions, boy, and then call me back."

"She wants to push …."

"Tell her, not to do that, under _**any**_ circumstances …. You hear me sonny, under no circumstances does she push …. Not until I get there."

The line went dead in his ear then, leaving String frowning, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he stared at the phone in his hand.

"She said don't push …. Under _**any**_ circumstances, _**don't push**_!" String informed Helen as he came bounding back into the bedroom and found her in the grip of yet another pain.

"Ok …. Ok …." Helen panted, when she could speak again, looking very small and frightened. "What else did she say?"

"I should time the contractions. I don't know how …." he confided as he came to hunker down before her again.

Helen reached out and grabbed his wrist, but he had taken his watch off when he had retired early that evening, and she gave him an impatient glare as he gave her an apologetic look, then crossed the room to retrieve it from the nightstand and slipped it on to his left wrist.

Helen Santini waited for the next contraction to begin and forced herself to ride it out as she watched the second hand move quickly around the face of String's watch.

The look on her face, when Helen finally managed to drag in a ragged breath, told String that all was not as she expected.

"Call her back String, tell her …." however, Helen could not continue as another pain roared through her, and she again reached for her husband's hand, crushing it in her grip as the pain exploded through her.

"Tell her what?"

"Tell her, they're coming too close together. Lasting too long. I think they're what the doctor calls, owwwwww! Double peak contractions," Which, she also knew, meant that she had skipped the first stages of labor completely, and had gone straight to the second, hard stage instead.

"Hello upstairs!"

A voice String vaguely recognised hollered from downstairs and String nearly screamed with relief.

_**The cavalry ….**_

"That's her! Up here, Mrs Randall!" Helen Santini screamed.

A few moments later an elderly woman clad in a tartan housecoat, matching fur lined slippers and curlers appeared in the bedroom doorway and immediately took in the scene before her.

Helen Santini, sitting slightly propped up against the foot of the bed and her hunk of a husband, the formerly comatose airline pilot, squatting down beside her, looking completely non plussed, ill at ease and terrified out of his mind.

"Found the front door key under the plant pot," Mrs Randall explained how she had managed to gain access, as she entered the room, and immediately moved String out of her way. "Let the dog see the rabbit there, young fella," she intoned, putting herself between String and Helen Santini as she awkwardly got down on to her aged, creaking knees.

"Ok Helen, I'm just going to have a little look-see," she told the younger woman, then turned back to regard String with a cool expression.

"Double peak contractions," Helen Santini ground out, leaning forward once more. "I need to push …. Owwwwwww …."

"No, you don't honey. You hold fire just a minute, and you," the older woman pinned cool brown eyes on the young man who was staring in open mouthed shock at his young wife, as she endured the pains ripping through her frail body.

"You can make yourself useful by getting me some things. I'll need a towel, some string and a sharp pair of clean scissors. Well? What are you waiting for? Hop to it! This baby isn't going to wait for you!"

"What about hot water?" String demanded.

He knew it was a pre- requisite for the birthing of babies.

In the movies they were always calling for copious amounts of boiling water ….

"We don't have time to worry about making coffee now, sonny," the old woman snarled at him. "Now, skedaddle!" she waved him away unceremoniously, then turned her attention back to the most important person in the proceedings, Helen Santini.

"Ok, honey. Let me see. Oh my, impatient little bugger, this one …."

String heard the older woman say as he made his way into the adjacent bathroom to find the towels in the airing cupboard beside the toilet and fished out a handful of soft, fluffy, sweet smelling towels and hurried back into the bedroom with them.

"What? What?" Helen was demanded of the old woman, as he returned and deposited the towels on the bed.

"It's crowning. I can see the head, honey. Won't be long now," Mrs Randall advised. "Now, with the next pain, I want a really big push. Need to get the shoulders out, so give it all you got, baby. You still here, sonny?" Mrs Randall glowered at him. "String and scissors," she reminded him succinctly and he darted out onto the landing and down the stairs to the kitchen, in record time, taking a wrong turn into the den before finally getting his bearings, and locating the kitchen at the back of the house.

He found a roll of hard, grey string and a pair of clean scissors, but not wanting to take any chances, after filling the kettle at the sink and lighting the gas ring to put it on, after all what did the old woman know …. They might need hot water after all …. String held the scissors in the flame briefly, before putting the kettle on to boil and rushing back up the stairs.

"Just in time. C'mere," Mrs Randall demanded as she registered the look on String's face, as he was confronted with the sight of Helen Santini, now lying on her back on the floor, knees up and legs apart, the head and one shoulder of her nearly newborn child clearly visible.

"Close your mouth sonny, there's a bus comin'," Esther Randall smothered a grin, and sighed in exasperation.

Esther Randall had been doing this job for years, and the reactions of every husband who had witnessed their child being born was different, and never failed to amuse her.

"Now, put a towel over my left shoulder, that's it," she coaxed, as String unfolded a towel and draped it over her shoulder as instructed, anxious eyes darting between Helen's pain contorted face and the head and shoulders of the child emerging into the world.

"Push Helen, as hard and as long as you can! Atta girl! _**You**_, get me a length of string …. I don't care how long …. Oh for crying out loud man, just cut a length of string, and do it now!"

As she spoke, Helen Santini let out a loud shriek of triumph and the older woman was suddenly drawing out the child from between Helen Santini's open legs, and pulling the towel he had draped over her shoulder around the little bundle.

For a moment, String thought his heart had stopped.

_**It wasn't crying.**_

_**The baby wasn't crying.**_

_**Shouldn't it be crying?**_

Then almost at the same moment, a thin, high pitched wail filled the room, as the newborn child began to exercise its lungs.

"String!" Mrs Randall demanded. "Give me the String, Stringfellow," she said in a slightly softer voice, as she took in the look of complete awe on the young man's face, as he waved a length of the tough grey string under her nose.

"Thank you."

She sighed softly as she used the string to tie off the umbilical cord in two places and the newly sterilised scissors to cut between the ties, to sever the child's connection to its mother, cradling the newborn very carefully against her shoulder as she tucked the soft warm towel more closely around the child.

"Here you go, sonny. Meet your new daughter," she beamed as she gently offered the child to String. "Go on, boy! She won't bite you," she chuckled, as he reached out with unsteady hands to take the carefully wrapped, squealing bundle from the midwife.

"Go show her to her Momma. Girl needs to know she's ok," Mrs Randall told him in a low voice. "Needs to know all that hard work was worth it."

The look he gave to the older woman spoke volumes.

"She's fine. They're both fine," the old woman assured him. "Baby's a little bit shocked though, so when you and her Momma have had a few minutes to get acquainted, you will need to go call an ambulance. They'll both need to be checked out."

String nodded mutely, still dumbstruck by the sight of the red faced bundle wriggling in his hand, and then, forcing legs that felt like lead weights, to move, he carefully carried the newborn baby girl to Helen Santini, and placed her gently in her mother's waiting, open arms.

The look that settled on Helen Santini's face was more beautiful and peaceful than anything String had ever seen in his life before.

And no sooner had the child been placed in her mother's arms, she stopped screaming and struggling and reached out to grab Helen's little finger, as she tried to pull down the towel to get a closer look at her daughter's angry little red face.

"Hello little one," Helen cooed lovingly, all the pain and fear of a few moments before completely forgotten, as she gazed down at the child in her arms. "Say hello to your Papa. String, say hello to …. Constance Maria. Connie, this is your Daddy," Helen Santini beamed up at her husband, who looked completely thunderstruck, as he took in the significance of the names.

Constance, for his birth mother, and Maria, for his adoptive mother.

_**Constance Maria Santini.**_

"Hello Connie," String cooed too, fighting back tears and leaning in to get a closer look at the child nestled in Helen's arms, and who looked so much as though she belonged there, while the old woman fussed over tidying Helen up and making her comfortable.

His child.

His daughter.

_**But was she?**_

If, he truly was Stringfellow Santini then yes, and he had every right to feel elated. On top of the world.

So full of joy and pride and love.

But , if he was Stringfellow Hawke.

At that moment, he did not want to think about it.

"I love you," Helen Santini spoke in a low, soft voice, but she was looking up into his face as she said the words, and there was no denying the look of love and admiration and peace on her face, as she reached up with gentle, shaking fingers to caress his cheek, briefly. "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."

String opened his mouth to say that he loved her too, but then stopped himself.

_**Would he be saying it because at this moment, between these two people, it was what would be expected?**_

_**Or would he be saying because it was true?**_

He had no answer.

"I'll say," Mrs Randall chuckled softly. "Ok, son," she gave him a gentle nudge now, breaking the moment, and he lowered his gaze from Helen's slightly flushed face to look at the child once more. "Go make that call."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"And you'd better call your father too," she advised. "Someone will need to stay with the other youngsters, while you go with Helen to the hospital."

"Yes, Ma'am …. And thank you. Thank you so much."

"Well don't just stand there," she grinned at him cheekily then. "Anyone would think you never had a baby before."

Esther Randall chuckled, as he rolled his eyes heavenward and moved toward the bedroom door, almost tripping over his own feet, as he could not take his eyes off the wondrous sight before him, Helen Santini, cradling Connie lovingly in her arms, wishing as he did so that he had been able to tell her that he did indeed love her.

_**For at that moment, he knew in his heart that he did.. **_

But, he also knew that it would be the wrong time to make such a confession, and for all the wrong reasons.

He couldn't tell her anything about how he was really feeling …. Not until he was absolutely sure who he was and what his life was really all about.

Not until he was absolutely sure that he had the right to feel that way.

Mrs Randall relieved Helen of the child now and leaned in close to say something to Helen as she lay the baby girl down carefully in the center of the big bed.

On the landing, String used the phone to call an ambulance, and then the hospital to advise them that they would be arriving shortly. He picked up the telephone receiver one more time and tried to remember Dominic Santini's telephone number.

As he stood there, completely lost for a moment, String saw the door just down the hallway to his left open, just a crack, and a sleepy little red face emerge to peek out onto the landing, big blue eyes blinking rapidly in the harsh light.

Dom Junior.

Aroused from his slumbers, no doubt, by the commotion coming from his parent's room.

"Hey, Dom," String greeted the child with a cheesy smile, as he pushed the door open just a little wider and regarded his father, who was clad only in his jeans, which he hadn't managed to fasten up and which were threatening to fall down around his ankles, holding the telephone to his ear and grinning at him like a fool.

"Hey Dad," The child replied somewhat sheepishly.

"Guess what?" Hawke grinned.

"What?"

"You got a new baby sister."

"Ah, no," the little boy let out a deep groan of disappointment.

"Yeah," Hawke tried to smother a chuckle then. "She's beautiful. Just like her Mom. We're calling her Connie."

"Connie?" The child tried the name for size and then opened his mouth wide in a big yawn.

"Maybe you better go back to bed."

"Who you calling?"

"Grandpa Dominic," String told him, then had an idea. "Here, you wanna do it?" he asked with a grin, holding the telephone receiver out to the child.

"Yeah!"

Dominic Santini Junior, trailing a scruffy looking yellow teddy behind him, and clad in Winnie The Pooh pyjamas, looking for all the world like Christopher Robin himself, emerged onto the landing, and came to stand beside String, who carefully hoisted the child up into his arms and gave him the telephone receiver.

"Can you dial? You know the number?"

"Of course I do!" the child told him with undisguised indignation. "I'm not a baby, Daddy."

Again String struggled not to laugh out loud as he cuddled the child and watched him dial Dom's number and tell him in a very excited little voice, that he had a new sister, called Connie.

"Why didn't you call me sooner!" Dominic Senior grouched once String finally wrestled the telephone from the child and swatted him carefully on the backside, pushing him gently down the landing to encourage him to return to his bed.

"No time, Dom, er, Dad. It all happened so fast," String explained breathlessly.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And did you faint dead away?"

"No. Didn't have time to think about it."

"So?"

"So, it was …. Amazing," String felt tears sting in the corners of his eyes now, knowing that he had never seen anything more beautiful or miraculous in his life.

And that he probably never would again.

"How's Helen?"

"I'm not sure. Mrs Randall kind of bundled me out of there while she finished taking care of Helen, but she says they're both ok. I think the baby might be a little shaken by how quickly she came into the world, so I called an ambulance any way. I guess what I really need is a babysitter. How about it Grandpa?"

"I'm walking out the door as we speak, son. Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Dad."

"Make yourself useful," Mrs Randall said when String returned to the bedroom, and handed him the wrapped bundle that was the newborn baby Santini. "Go get better acquainted with your daughter while you wait for that ambulance. Helen and I still have a little work to do. You did remember that that was what you went out there to do?"

"Of course I did," String gave her one of his patented glowers, but the older woman ignored him and smiled indulgently at him.

"And how was Dominic? Like a dog with two tails, no doubt!"

"You can see for yourself, he's on his way over."

"Good."

As String took the child from the midwife and smiled lovingly down into her now sleepy little face, he could hear the distant shriek of an ambulance siren.

With the baby still cradled in his arms, String let the ambulance crew in and they immediately made their way up the stairs to check on Helen and Mrs Randall.

A few minutes later one paramedic came back down the stairs and sought String out, finding the young man rocking the newborn child lovingly in his arms in the kitchen, cooing softly at her and gazing down into her beautiful blue eyes with such love and devotion, no doubt making silent promises to keep her safe and protected and loved all the days of her life, it tugged at even his embittered old heart.

"Sorry, pal …. Need to check her over too."

"Ok."

String reluctantly handed the child over to the medic, who lay her down unceremoniously on the kitchen table, and began to unwrap the towel from around her small warm body, checking that the umbilical cord had been cut correctly, and that the child had all her fingers and toes and that she seemed to be breathing easily and was alert to both sound and movement.

"How is Helen?" String asked as he watched the medic checking Connie over, listening to her tiny, racing heart and taking her temperature and noting them down on a clipboard.

"She's fine. She's tired and bit shocked by the speed of how it happened, but she'll be fine when she gets this little one back, and they both get a good night's sleep."

"Is the baby all right?"

"Right as rain. Good colour, good strong heart beat, temperature is ok. Maybe a little small and under weight. Nothing to worry about though. Still we need to get her to the hospital so that they can put her in an incubator for a little while," the medic explained. "I guess you'll want to put some clothes on, if you're coming along in the ambulance," he hinted, smirking at the younger man's state of undress.

"If, its ok, with you guys?"

"Sure. The old lady upstairs said she would stay with the other kids until your father arrives."

"Thanks. Should I take her now?" String offered his open arms to take back the baby, but the medic shook his head.

"Go put your duds on man, and I'll finish up here. We'll be wanting to bring your wife down and put her in the ambulance in a few minutes."

"Ok."

String bounded up the stairs two at a time and was greeted at the bedroom door by Mrs Randall, holding out a shirt, socks, shoes and a clean pair of black pants to him, and he peered around her to see that Helen was ok.

Helen Santini looked exhausted now, but she smiled brightly back at him, a look of peace and triumph in her beautiful green eyes as the other medic took her blood pressure and noted it down on another clipboard.

A few minutes later they were all loaded into the back of the ambulance, and it was just pulling out of the Santini's driveway, when Dominic Santini arrived in his battered old jeep, and Mrs Randall greeted him on the doorstep with a big hug.

"They all right? Really?" he asked anxiously, as she slipped her arm around his shoulder and guided him in out of the night.

"They're fine, Dominic. She's a real beauty," Esther Randall grinned up at him. "They're both fine," she assured. "It happened much quicker than I would have liked, but they came through it."

"And how was String?"

"Next to useless. Pretty much like I expected," Esther chuckled then. "Looked like a house had fallen in on him, when I got here, but I soon set him straight."

"I bet you did, Esther, I just bet you did!" Dominic Santini chuckled then.

"He's a good boy, Dom. A real looker, too. Must run in the family," she winked suggestively at him then. "I heard so much about him, all these months, from you and Helen. It was good to see him up and on his feet."

"Yeah," Dominic smiled softly down at the older woman. "Thank you, Esther," he grew solemn then, wondering just how different things might have turned out, if she hadn't been there to help out.

"It was my pleasure, Dominic."

"They're calling her Constance."

"Constance, Maria," she amended, and saw the startled look in his rheumy old grey eyes.

"Constance, Maria," he echoed, and she could not mistake the tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes. "I should have known Helen would have thought of something like that."

"Beautiful names, for a beautiful child," Esther Randall squeezed his arm gently them.

"Named for both of her beautiful grandmothers. String's real mother, Constance Hawke, and my beautiful wife, his adopted mother, Maria Santini," he explained

"Then she is doubly blessed, Dominic. C'mon, let's go make some coffee. One thing that boy of yours managed to do right. Putting the kettle on, even though I told him I didn't need gallons of hot water, I tell you, Hollywood has a lot to answer for!"


	8. Chapter 8

"What's wrong, son?" Dominic Santini regarded the younger man solemnly.

They were sitting on the deck out back of the Santini's beautiful Malibu home, which overlooked a considerable stretch of golden beach, and the vast expanse of the beautiful blue Pacific Ocean, beyond their boundary fence.

Both men were enjoying the warmth of the midday sun, and sipping iced tea from tall frosted glasses. From somewhere in the house, muted by the closed glass patio door behind them, they could hear the soft cry of the Santini's new baby daughter, Constance Maria, as she exercised her lungs.

Dominic Santini knew that his son should be on top of the world right now.

Back in his own home for almost three weeks now, the place he had always claimed to love, and which soothed his soul, close to his beloved beach and the foaming surf, with his lovely wife and family around him, and surrounded by memories and mementoes of his life.

The things they had rescued from the burned out shell of the cabin, like the faded and wrinkled old family photos of Steven and Connie Hawke, in the heat twisted silver frame.

The photo of the three Hawke children, fishing on the shores of the lake, in the happy summer days, before their parent's deaths.

The few precious pieces of artwork that his grandfather had collected for his grandmother, and which had survived the inferno that had claimed the young man's birth parents.

And more recent photographs, of Dominic and Maria Santini, Skyler and Mat and their two kids, and a huge group photo of Helen and String with Dom Junior, Christopher and Lucy grinning happily back at him from a guilt frame, over an ornamental fireplace.

On the desk in his study were smaller portraits of each of the kids, and a particularly good one of Helen, smiling happily at him, along with some messy, childish, scribblings, of the kids, and on the walls, framed and given pride of place were Stringfellow's college diploma and graduation pictures and a picture of the young newlyweds, smiling radiantly.

String should have been at his most content, but he was not.

There was something troubling him.

His father had seen it in those beautiful deep blue eyes of his.

Now that they were back in town, he seemed restless.

Ill at ease.

Distracted.

Out of place.

Even Helen had noticed it, despite being busy with getting the children settled back into their old home and routines once more, and looking after their new baby.

"C'mon, son. Get it off your chest," Dominic Santini invited with a heavy sigh, and this drew String's gaze back from the rolling, foaming ocean surf. "I know there's something bugging you," Santini growled. "So just spit it out, and let's deal with it."

"I'm all right," String assured, but he could see that Santini was not convinced, and the words sounded hollow, lacking in conviction, even to his own ears.

"In a pig's eye!" Santini snapped.

This drew a scowl from the younger man.

"Don't pull that with me son, I know you too well, and don't give me the eye either. It won't wash," Santini warned. "I'm not going back to Elkington until you get it off your chest, so you might as well just spill …."

Originally, Dominic Santini had only planned on staying for a few days. A week at most, but the long drive had taken a lot out of him, and he had so enjoyed catching up with old buddies and visiting old haunts, and his son and daughter in law had made him so welcome, if truth be told, he wasn't looking forward to the long, lonely drive back to Elkington.

String took a sip of his iced tea and let out a soft sigh.

Dominic was right.

There was something on his mind.

There were things that he needed to do.

Things that he knew that he just had to do, before he could completely accept that this was his life,

That he was _**this**_ man.

_**Stringfellow Santini.**_

Things that he needed to do to resolve his feelings of uncertainty.

And move on.

There was something that he had been dying to ask Dominic Santini since they had gotten back to the city, but he had been reluctant to speak up, knowing that it would worry those people closest to him, those who loved him, unconditionally and deeply.

He did not want to hurt them.

Dominic Santini watched the play of emotions as they crossed his son's dear face, and knew at once what was bothering him.

"You still don't believe it, do you?" he asked in a soft voice, and String closed his eyes as he could not fail to hear the disappointment and hurt in Dominic Santini's voice.

"I thought," Santini faltered then. "Look, son, I know you still can't remember, but, well, I thought you were at least beginning to believe your own eyes."

"I'm trying, Dom …. Dad," String caught himself and threw Santini an apologetic look, wondering when it would get easier to remember to call the older man Dad.

When it would feel right.

Natural.

He had started to do it because he knew it was what Dominic Santini wanted and needed to hear from him.

But, it didn't mean that it felt any more comfortable to him today than it had the first time he had said it.

"But?" Santini probed now. "I know there's a 'but' in there, son, I can hear it in your voice," Santini sighed deeply once more.

"I need you to do something for me …."

"Anything son, all you have to do is ask."

"Take me up to Eagle Lake. The cabin."

"Oh, String …."

"I want to see it, for myself. The cabin. Their graves. Please, Dad. I need to see it for myself. Then maybe I can move on," String explained, willing Dominic Santini to understand this desperate need that he had.

"I'd like to put some flowers on their graves. Say one last goodbye. See the old place, one last time. Make my peace with it."

He regarded the older man with steady, deep blue eyes, and watched the emotions that crossed his wrinkled, beloved, old face now.

Hurt.

Disappointment.

And then ….

Acceptance.

"Please, Dad?" String reached out across the table and took the older man's gnarled, cool hand in his own. "You could fly us up there. It wouldn't take long."

"Son, it ain't that easy," Santini sighed deeply. "I can't get my hands on a chopper that easily, and you can't fly. You're still grounded, remember?"

"Of course, I remember," String sighed heavily now. "You still have friends in the aviation business. You could call in a favour …."

"Son, I ain't been at the controls of a chopper in more than eight years!" Santini protested.

"It's like riding a bike, Dad, you never forget."

"That's as maybe, I been flying so many years, I can do it in my sleep …. But, I don't have my licence anymore, kid. _**I'm retired**_ ! I don't even fly for fun no more. I'm an old man, and my reflexes are shot to hell. What do I need with a pilot's licence? I wish I could help you, son …."

"Then _**I'll **_fly us. You get the chopper, _**I'll**_ take the controls …."

"Didn't I just get through reminding you you're _**grounded**_!"

"Since when did that ever stop us?"

"Son …."

"Dad …. Please …. I can handle it. I promise."

"I wish I understood …."

"So do I, Dad. I just know I have to do this. _**I have to**_. If, I'm to have any chance of moving on, and having a good, meaningful life. I owe it to myself, to Helen and the kids …. And to you too. Maybe while I'm there, things will start to make more sense? Maybe it's the one thing that will put all of this in to some kind of perspective for me?"

_**Was that a note of desperation creeping into his voice now?**_

"It's the only way you'll believe they're really gone? Even St John?" Dominic Santini sighed sorrowfully. "You really believe it's the only way? The only thing that will help to convince you?"

"Yes, Dad. I really believe," String squeezed his father's hand gently. "Please Dad. Will you help me?"

"I must be loco!" Santini muttered, rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "And if Helen ever finds out, she'll have both our heads on a platter, for Thanks Giving," he growled. "But, we need to resolve this thing, once and for all. If going up to Eagle Lake is the only way to do that …."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't thank me just yet son. I haven't got us a ride. You sure you're up to it?"

"I'm sure."

"Ok."

"It'll be all right, Dad. Just you wait and see."

"Promise me something, son. If, we do this,** w**_**hen**_ we do this …. When it's done, no matter what the outcome …. You'll let it rest. You'll accept that _**this**_ is just the way things are, and try to make a go of it …."

"Ok, Dad. I promise."

String pledged, knowing that if he didn't find what he was looking for up at the lake, then he would have no other choice but to accept that _**this**_ was reality, and the other life was just a dream.

He wouldn't fight it any more.

He would embrace his family, and all the love they gave to him so freely, and find a way to make it work.

For all of them.

"Gee, Dad," String eyed the helicopter parked on the forecourt of Elliot De Sousa's hangar, on Van Nuys airfield, borrowed for the morning for their trip up to Eagle Lake, and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

In his opinion, it was a rusted heap of junk. A relic from the Vietnam war, that probably had no right to be flown anywhere, except directly to the old aircraft graveyard out in the desert, with a preacher along to utter a prayer or two on the way, to ensure that it got there in one piece.

It also felt strange to him to be standing barely yards away from where he remembered the Santini Air hangar had been located, but now, hanging over the closed hangar doors, was a sign for an air freight outfit that had recently gone out of business.

"The guy you borrowed this thing from," he sighed deeply, and glowered at Santini over the top of his mirrored flying shades. "Which of you owes the other money?" he drawled sarcastically, and Dominic Santini scowled back at him.

"Nobody owes any body anything! Elliot is my oldest buddy here at the airfield. You know that!"

"Did you say …. _**friend**_?" String emphasised the word and then gave the landing skids of the chopper a solid kick.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Santini reminded his son.

"And you were worried about _**my**_ air worthiness?" String sighed deeply.

"It'll get us there and back. Assuming that is, you don't take a detour to Detroit," Santini grouched.

"We'll be lucky if this thing makes Venice Beach," String muttered and then regarded Santini over the rim of his flying shades once more. "You trying to say I don't remember how to get to Eagle Lake?" he arched an eyebrow quizzically. "I could find the place with my eyes closed."

"That's not how you intend to fly us there, is it son?"

"Funny, Dad."

"Please _**don't**_ ," Santini quipped. "Let's just get on with it, ok?"

String watched Dominic Santini saunter around the chopper and could tell from his body language that something was not right.

"What's wrong with you?" String suddenly had a thought, and it stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment. "You scared to go up with me?" he grew serious now.

It was a very real possibility.

After all, hadn't he just walked away from a very serious crash?

It would only be natural for anyone to question his skills and his readiness to get back in the right seat.

"Say it, Dad. I'll understand if you don't wanna ….."

"No, son, it's nothing like that."

"Well, something is eating at you," String sighed deeply once more.

"Well, it don't have nothing to do with your flying ability," his father assured softly. "But," he then let out a deep sigh. "I guess my conscience is troubling me. I hated lying to Helen," Santini confessed a little shamefaced now.

"Me, too." String admitted. "But, we couldn't tell her the truth now, could we? She would have had a fit!"

"With good reason," Santini grinned sheepishly then. "So what are we still standing around gassing for?"

"I'm trying to work out where the starting handle is to crank this thing up," String teased now, relieved to hear from Santini that he still trusted his flying skills. "How old is this thing, anyway?"

"About near as old as you, sonny, and a damned sight more reliable!" Santini snarled playfully. "C'mon will ya, Christmas is comin', and I ain't getting any younger."

"That's for sure."

"You, neither, sonny!"

"Ok."

"C'mon, before Elliot decides to charge us by the hour …."

"He's actually making you part with money for this crate?" String asked incredulously. "We only wanted to borrow it, not buy it! You'd better tell me how much, so I can cover it," he offered, not wanting the older man to be out of pocket because of his whims.

"It's nothing."

"Dad?"

"Beer money, is all," Santini shrugged.

"Geez, the way that guy drinks, the price of oil oughta work out about 100 dollars a barrel!" String chuckled now, knowing that the last time the two old timers had been out on a bender, Dominic Santini had been sick as a dog for a week, and vowed that he would never try to match Elliot in a drinking competition again.

Then he recalled that that had been Stringfellow Hawke's Dominic Santini, and also recalled that it had been years since _**this **_Dominic had even seen Elliot De Sousa.

"Will you just get in, and get this thing in the air!"

"You were robbed, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah. Whose fool idea is this anyway?"

"Ok, Dad, keep your shirt on."

Both men climbed into the ancient Hughes helicopter and String busied himself with familiarising himself with the controls, while Dominic Santini slipped on his seat belt and head set, and then watched with pride and satisfaction as his son went through the pre-flight checklist diligently.

Soon they were in the air, and once they had left the congestion of the city behind them, Dominic Santini began to frown, realising that something didn't feel right.

"Hey, I thought you said you knew the way!"

"I do."

"Like hell! I know I'm just an old geezer, but even if I _**didn't**_ remember that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, I can still read a damned compass!"

"We're going the wrong way?" String feigned surprise, wrestling to hide a smile from the indignant older man.

"Clown! I take it you know _**exactly **_where we're going?"

"Correct."

"So?" Santini prompted. "Care to fill an old geezer in?"

"Look, Dad, I know what I said, about finding my way to the lake, but, since we're here, and we might not get another chance …. There are a couple of other things I need to check out," String told Santini somewhat sheepishly.

"What other things?" Santini demanded.

"Nothing for you to worry about," String assured, but Santini gave him a sideways look that told him all too clearly that he was not convinced. "Just some stuff …."

"Oh no, String, don't tell me you got some morbid need to see the crash site?"

"What?"

"The place in the desert, where you set down that jetliner?"

String had to admit to himself that he had not thought about that, but now that Dominic had raised the subject ….

It was another clue to check out.

Something else that would tie him to _**this**_ life, indelibly.

"Oh no, son," Santini grumbled.

"Do you know where it happened, Dad?"

"No son, I don't , and believe me, I have no desire to see the place where you almost died!"

"All right, Dad," String could see the pain on Santini's face and knew that he meant it. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.

"This stuff? Would it be, Stringfellow Hawke stuff?" Santini asked now.

"Yeah." String sighed softly.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"No." String replied succinctly.

"Oh. Ok. Gee, son, I just love it when we communicate so well," Santini grumbled, letting out a deep sigh and the sarcasm was not lost on his son.

"Look, Dad, there are a couple of things I remember, from Hawke's life, that I really need to check out. I really need to know, for sure. It might make a difference. Affect the future."

"Trouble?"

"No."

"String?"

"Hawke was involved in some pretty …. dark stuff. Covert stuff. For the government." String confided for the first time.

"You just said it! _**Hawke,**_ was involved, _**not you**_," Santini reminded him softly. "Dammit boy, you still think you're _**him**_?"

"It's a loose end, Dad, and I need to check it out. For my peace of mind."

"What is it you're looking for?"

"Hawke had something that the government wanted back. I just need to be sure that _**I**_ don't have it. That it isn't suddenly going to come back and haunt me."

"I don't have a clue what you are talking about, son."

"Good."

"What did he have that the government wanted so badly?"

"Well, if its where he …. Er, I …. he …. Left it, you'll soon see for yourself, and if it's not. Then it doesn't really matter."

"So where are we heading?"

"The desert. The Valley of The Gods."

"Pretty place."

"Yeah, but it's not the scenery I'm interested in."

"This guy Hawke, kind of a shady fella."

"He wasn't …. isn't ….. a bad man, Dad, and he wasn't always proud of the things that he had to do …. But, the way he saw it, he was just doing what he had to do to get what he wanted."

"And that was?"

"Information. About St John. His brother was listed as MIA. Missing in Action, Dad. For a lot of years. It wasn't so much that he couldn't face the fact that his brother was gone. Dead. But, the uncertainty. The not knowing for sure what St John's fate was. All he really wanted was answers. About what happened to St John. Was he still alive? Did the government know, and if so, what the hell were they going to do about it? You see Dad, he was totally convinced that St John was still alive. Somewhere, and, if he'd had to sell his soul to the very Devil himself to find out, for sure, he would have."

"I know how that feels. I would have done the same thing to raise the money for the operation you needed to walk again."

String turned his head briefly and gave his father an understanding look, filled with the love and the gratitude that he felt, and the older man smiled back at him.

"You like him?"

"That's like asking, if I like _**myself**_ ," String frowned then. "But, yeah, some times. I guess I admire his tenacity and his loyalty and his integrity. He wasn't always happy, but, I get the impression that he wasn't miserable either. He had made choices that he knew he had to live with, and the that way they affected his life. He did the best he could, just like all of us."

"Yeah, I thought so. You like him," Dominic Santini sighed deeply then.

"I like _**me**_, Dad. Whatever my name, I like living in _**this**_ skin. I like the things _**I**_ have in _**my**_ life right now."

"Then why are we on this wild goose chase, son?"

"Because, I need to be sure, once and for all. So that I can accept all of the blessings in my life, and get on with enjoying them," String sighed softly. "I can't help thinking that one morning I'll wake up and this will all be gone, and I'll find out that I really _**am**_ Stringfellow Hawke after all, and the thing that will hurt me more than anything, will be that I didn't do enough to find out the truth, while I had the chance …. And that I didn't make the best of the opportunity. I have a wonderful family and a beautiful wife, but I can't love them like they _**need**_ to be loved, like I _**want**_ to love them, if I can't get over the feeling that I'm _**not**_ the man they think I am. That I am a fraud. Living a lie. Living another man's life," this drew a sharp look from Dominic Santini. "I know it's irrational, but …."

"Ok, ok, I get the picture. You gotta do, what ya gotta do, son."

"Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah,"Santini grinned smugly. "How long before we get where we're going?"

"Ten minutes, maybe less. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Dad."

True to his word, a few minutes later the horizon was filled with the monolithic formations of the stone cliffs that made up The Valley of The Gods, and String pointed the helicopter in the direction of where Stringfellow Hawke would have expected to find the lair, where he had hidden Airwolf ….

Only to find that as he brought the chopper down for a landing on the rich red desert soil, there was no sign of the familiar opening to the cave.

"Something wrong?" Dominic Santini asked when he noticed the frown pulling at his son's brow.

"Stay put. I won't be a minute," String told Santini, as he slipped out of his seat belt and pulled the headset off his head, then reached out and cracked the door.

He walked with purposeful stride toward where Stringfellow Hawke would have expected to find the mouth of the cave, but he could see nothing but solid red sandstone, cracked and pitted from years of wear by the desert wind, but there was no opening.

No cave.

The structure was solid.

No cave meant, no lair.

Which. could mean only one thing.

There was no Airwolf.

"You loose something, son?" Santini shouted in his ear over the deafening noise of the chopper, as he came to a standstill beside him.

String tried to hide his disappointment with a lopsided smile, but Santini knew that something was wrong, and reached out and squeezed his son's shoulder reassuringly.

"Maybe you'll find it up at the lake after all," he suggested and String shrugged, knowing that he would not find the unique helicopter there.

She simply did not exist.

And that must surely mean that he really was Stringfellow Santini, after all.

"C'mon son, time is moving on," Santini reminded, and his son nodded gently in understanding, turning to return to the idling helicopter without a backward glance at the stone monument.

"I guess you didn't find what you were looking for down there, huh?" Santini asked, once they were airborne once more.

"No," String let out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, son."

"It's ok. It's helped. A little. I know for sure that _**that,**_ is a false memory."

"What's a false memory?" Santini frowned.

"The thing Hawke had hidden here."

"And that was?" His father prompted now.

"Did I ever talk to you about …. Airwolf?"

"Sure ya did."

"I did?" String gaped at his father in amazement.

"Better shut your mouth son, before you choke on a fly," Santini grinned at the expression on his son's face, and then had to fight to smother a chuckle, as the younger man clamped his gaping mouth shut once more.

"And?" String prompted through gritted teeth, when Santini continued to grin at him.

"Oh, yeah. Some whacky government project you were asked to join, but before you could tell them what to do with their offer, the government pulled the money, and it went belly up," he explained, running his chin thoughtfully. "Guess that was back in the summer of 1983, and Helen had just found out that she was expecting Lucy."

"Oh."

"This Airwolf project?" Santini prompted again now, curious to know why his son had raised the subject. "What made you ask me about it now? You never did find out what _**your**_ Airwolf project was about. Lots of cloak and dagger stuff that drove you crazy. Anyway, you were chief pilot with the airline by then, and you were happy with that," Santini explained and regarded his son with open curiosity.

"Hawke's Airwolf was a Mach 1 Super Helicopter."

"So what made you think you might find out something about this Airwolf here?"

"Because Hawke hid it here."

"Why?"

"He stole it."

"Nice," Santini whistled through his teeth and rolled his eyes heavenward.

"He was asked to get it back, for the government, when the man who developed it stole it, and took it to Libya."

"Wow. Back up a bit, I thought you said, _**Hawke,**_ stole the chopper?" Santini frowned in confusion.

"He did, but Moffett, that's the guy who designed it, stole it first. The government asked Hawke to get it back for them, but once he did, he stole her, hid her back there, and told the government that he wouldn't give her back, until they could give him something solid on the fate of his brother, St John."

"And they let him get away with it?" Santini asked incredulously.

"Yeah." String confirmed.

"Cute."

"There would have been a lot of explaining to do, when other government agencies found out that they had been developing this weapon. So, in exchange for using the chopper to help the government out from time to time, on official business, the boss man helped Hawke to keep the chopper, and promised to try to find out what had happened to St John."

"Like I said, this Hawke fella sounds like a real shady character."

String tried hard not to smile at the dour look on his father's beloved face, as he wondered how he would react if he told him that Stringfellow Hawke's Dominic Santini had been in it with him, up to his pretty grey temples.

"What? What?" Santini demanded.

"Nothing," String grinned, then suddenly grew thoughtful for a moment.

If there had been an Airwolf project in this existence, even though it never got off the ground, maybe there was a government agency called The Firm?

And ….

String turned slightly to look at Dominic Santini now.

"Dad, did I ever mention someone called, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III?"

"Mike?" Dominic Santini sighed deeply. "I wondered …." he faltered just for a moment, and this drew a frown from his son. "I wondered if you would ever get around to asking about him," Santini added at last.

"Then I did know a man called Michael?" String asked in incredulity.

"Call sign, Archangel."

"Yeah. Archangel," String could not hide the surprise in his voice then. "How did _**I**_ know him?"

"He was a rival of yours for a while. Another test pilot, older than you, lot older, and had been around a lot longer. For a long time, the two of you were chasing the same jobs. Coming up against each other. Eventually, you became friends. Real good friends. I often used to think that Mike was as important to you as St John had been."

"So where is he now?"

"He's dead, son," Santini let out a regretful sigh. "Crashed, on the test range, testing out something for NASA, in the spring of 1976. You took it hard, son. Real hard. You'd seen a lot of men die that way. I guess, Mike was just one friend too many that you lost to that way of life. I always thought it was his dying like that, that finally made you up and quit. You didn't want to end up like him. Made you realise that no matter how good you were, eventually, one day, your luck was gonna run out," He sighed again. "And you had Helen then, of course. Two of you were getting real close. Couple of months after Mike died, you and Helen tied the knot, and you signed up with the airline as a junior pilot."

String nodded in understanding, finally seeing what Helen had meant when she had told him back there in the hospital, that he had finally had enough of being an adrenalin junkie, and had then become impatient to rush her down the aisle.

"Hawke's Archangel was the boss man, on the Airwolf project. The one who he did the deal with, to hide the bird."

"It don't mean nothing, String."

"I know."

"Just names, is all."

"Yeah. I guess. But, its funny, how they just keep coming up."

"Did you call your sister yet?"

Santini changed the subject then, not liking the direction the conversation was taking, but could tell from the expression on the younger man's face that he wasn't going to like his answer.

"Why not?"

"I don't know what to say to her …."

"How about, "hi, its your brother, back from the dead, howya doin' sis?"

"I _**will **_call her, Dad …. But, just not yet."

"You won't get to remembering her if you keep putting it off. You can only make the time difference an excuse for so long, son. She's gonna start to think that you don't love her anymore."

String wanted to say that he didn't _**know**_ her.

That he had no memory of her at all, and simply could not find a place to fit her into his life as Stringfellow anything.

He had no memories of having a sister, and simply did not know how to relate to her.

But, he knew that if he said all that, it would only hurt Dominic Santini more.

"Ok. Enough already, I'll call her tonight," he let out a deep sigh of exasperation and resignation.

"You make sure you do," Dominic Santini chided, then turned his head away slightly so that his son could not see the smile on his face, knowing that so long as String made the effort to pick up the phone, and call her, Skyler would be the one to do all the talking.

_**Talk the hind legs off of a donkey, that one**_! Santini continued to grin to himself.

Both men were silent for several minutes as they continued on their journey towards Eagle Lake, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence, as each man enjoyed the experience of being airborne once again, and took in the beauty of the scenery below them.

"You ready for this, son?" Dominic Santini finally broke the silence as he recognised the scenery on the horizon, heavily wooded mountainside and sunlight reflecting off distant water, and realised that they would soon arrive at their destination.

Eagle Lake.

"Yeah," String replied in a tight voice.

He had tried to prepare himself for what he must face, as best he could, but even he did not truly know how he would react, at the sight of his parents, and St John's graves.

He just knew that it was something that he had to do.

Something, that had to be faced, before he could move on.

And he had to admit, if only to himself, that he was glad that Dominic Santini was there to share it with him.

"You?"

"Yeah. Been a long time since I last set foot up here," Santini confessed. "The day we laid St John to rest," he recalled solemnly. "I always meant to come back, to take care of their graves, but …."

"It's all right, Dad," String reassured. "Its enough that they are all here, together, in the place where they were at their happiest."

Dominic Santini turned his head slowly and gave his beloved son a gentle smile.

And saw the look of surprise and horror that suddenly crossed the younger man's face, as they made their approach to the cabin across the gently rippling waters of the lake.

Santini turned his head and followed his son's gaze, and immediately saw the reason for String's shocked expression.

The wooden jetty had half rotted away and fallen into the waters of the lake, leaving only uneven rotting stumps and posts along the shoreline, and all that remained of the cabin its self was the stone chimney, which was also falling into ruin now, chunks of stone that barely resembled the once magnificent fireplace and stone chimney that had graced the Hawke's living room.

Santini realised that his son was looking upon the whole sight with the eyes of a man who had not seen it before.

_**He really didn't remember it being like this.**_

When they had come here the last time, to lay St John's body to rest, the ruins of the cabin hadn't been quite so over grown and dilapidated.

And String had still been so traumatised and in a lot of pain.

Maybe he hadn't really taken it all in.

After all, he had been on some pretty powerful drugs, for pain relief, and to help him to sleep nights, which made him woozy and disorientated a lot of the time.

Dominic Santini knew immediately that his son had somehow been expecting to either find the shell of a burned out building ….

Or the cabin, in tact, and waiting for him to step inside, and pick up the threads of the life of Stringfellow Hawke.

Not just a pile of fallen stones.

"String?"

"Yeah. I'm ok."

String drew in a deep, ragged breath then as he began to scan the shore for a place to set down the chopper. His heart was pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking as they gripped the chopper's controls.

This was most certainly not what he had been expecting to find.

He had still had the familiar picture of the cabin in his mind. Smoke curling welcomingly up from the stone fireplace and chimney. Tet, lying in wait for him, on the jetty ….

What he saw before him tore his heart in two.

A pile of tumbled down stones and not much else.

Nature encroaching, where man no longer invaded. Claiming back, in so little time, what man had labored so long to claim from her, and maintain as his own, for over a hundred years.

Weeds and wild flowers growing in abundance, where once his mother had stood to cook their meals and wash the dishes in the small kitchen nook, and in the den, where his father had labored over the family accounts, and kept his precious stamp collection.

And as he searched for a clear patch of ground to set down the chopper, String flew over the small, weed choked, fenced off cemetery plot, at the back of where the cabin had once stood, close to the tree line, where three grave markers were quite clearly visible, and his heart came up into his mouth.

"Easy, son," Dominic reached out for the controls as he felt the chopper wobble briefly as his son's hand trembled on the stick. "I've got her," he told the younger man, who slowly released the stick and took his feet off the pedals, then sat with his shaking hands in his lap, while his father set the chopper down on solid ground a few feet away from the fenced off cemetery plot.

The chopper had barely settled on the ground, and the young man was reaching out to crack open his door. Dominic Santini quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Give yourself a minute, son," he advised, taking in the pale, shocked expression on the younger man's face, but String shrugged off his hand and reached into the seat behind him to retrieve the flowers he had bought to place on the graves of his parents and his brother ….

_**His brother ….**_

St John.

_**Three graves.**_

Steven. Constance and St John Hawke.

_**It was really true.**_

String half walked and half staggered toward the graves, tripping over twisted roots and thick clumps of weeds in his haste, finally falling to his knees before the three stone markers covered in creepers and ivy and moss, and reached out with shaking fingers to trace the names carved deep into the stone.

His parents' graves were as he remembered them, although it tore at his heart to see them so unloved and overgrown.

But, it was the sight of St John's grave marker that really broke his heart, engraved with his name and the dates of his birth and his death, followed by the words 'loving son and brother'.

Leaving the chopper idling, Dominic Santini followed his son, worried for him, as the young man lurched toward the sad, overgrown little graveyard, and fell to his knees before St John's grave, reaching out with shaking hands to trace the engraved name inscribed on the stone, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down his ashen face, and the rough sobs shaking his slender body.

As he watched the scene before him, Dominic Santini felt tears prick in his own eyes, and had to swallow down hard to move the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him.

It was hard for him to watch, but he suspected that this was exactly what the young man had needed all along.

A chance to grieve properly for the brother he had lost so long ago.

The younger man had given him perfectly good reasons for wanting to come here, but his father had always suspected that there was more to it than just seeing the place one last time, and saying his final goodbyes.

Suspecting that even the young man himself did not really understand what drove him to come here.

Yet, he had been right when he had told Dominic that it was something that he needed to do.

So that he could move on, and live his life in peace.

Something, that he had had to see, for himself.

The only way that he would believe that it was true.

As he stood there, watching his son pour out his grief over his brother's grave, Dominic Santini could not help thinking that it would not do him self any harm either, to remember his old friend's Steven and Connie Hawke.

The sight of their graves had pulled at his heart too, and suddenly his mind had been filled with their familiar, smiling faces and he once again allowed himself to remember just how much he had loved them, and how much he had missed them.

And while he stood there, Dominic Santini offered up a prayer for his friends, and silently thanked them for the blessings that their untimely passing had brought into his life ….

Their three beautiful children.

Who had become _**his,**_ three beautiful children.

_**His life.**_

Dominic waited until the storm of tears had passed, and then walked slowly and carefully to where String still knelt before his brother's grave, and laid a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

This automatically drew the younger man's gaze up to his father's face, and the expression that Dominic found on the younger man's face, almost broke his heart.

It told him in no uncertain terms, that this was the first time that the younger man had actually contemplated that his beloved older brother was really dead.

Really gone.

Forever.

And now he was confronted with irrefutable proof.

_**Poor kid.**_ Santini thought silently to himself.

He could deny it no longer, and his grief was as fresh and powerful and overwhelming as it had been when he had first discovered that St John had been killed.

"Oh, son," Dominic Santini awkwardly lowered himself down on to his knees and pulled the younger man into his arms.

String did not resist, grateful for the strength of the older man's arms around his body. as he sank his face into his father's shoulder and gave in to the grief once more.

Dominic held onto the younger man and waited out the second storm of tears, until at last, String raised his head from his father's shoulder, and drew slightly away.

With shaking fingers, Dominic Santini reached out and wiped the tears from his son's cool, pale cheek, and then cupped his chin affectionately.

"Better?" he asked simply.

"Better." String nodded gently, then drew in a deep, ragged breath and expelled it slowly, before reaching out and giving Dominic Santini's shoulder a rough squeeze. "Thanks Dad. I'm …. I'm …." he faltered then as fresh tears sprang into his deep blue eyes.

"It's ok, son. Its way past time that you accepted that he is gone."

String nodded silently, unable to speak.

"We all know how close the two of you were, even before you went off to fight in the war together. We all know how much you loved him, would have died for him. Hell, you almost died _**with**_ him …. And …. All these years, we all thought that you'd gotten over it. I'm sorry, son, sorry we didn't see just how much pain you were still in."

String knew what his father was saying, that Dominic Santini had somehow reached the conclusion that despite accepting in his mind that his brother was dead, his heart had never acknowledged it, and that he had somehow harboured a secret hope that one day ….

One day he would return from the dead.

But, String knew that that was not so.

He had been clinging to Stringfellow Hawke's belief that St John was still alive.

Not Stringfellow Santini's inexpressible grief that his brother was dead.

He had been clinging to the faint belief that he really was Stringfellow Hawke after all, despite all the evidence to the contrary that he had seen with his own eyes over the past few weeks.

Because, Stringfellow Santini's life was all that he had ever desired for himself.

He liked it.

He wanted it.

_**Too much.**_

And it just seemed too damned good to be true.

If he began to allow himself to believe it, and it turned out not to be real ….

He did not think that he would be able to face the disappointment and the emptiness, and, he couldn't allow himself to believe it, because he could not get over the feeling that he simply did not deserve all these precious things.

Stringfellow Santini probably did.

But, Stringfellow Hawke most definitely did not.

And until he knew for sure which Stringfellow he really was ….

But, finally seeing St John's grave, seeing his name carved there, the date ….

Which, was also carved into Stringfellow Hawke's heart ….

The last day that he had seen his beloved brother alive in that steaming, godforsaken jungle, in 1969 ….

Finally seeing the grave, overgrown and untended all these years, close to their parent's graves, he had finally had to accept that St John was really gone, and that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini, _**not**_ Stringfellow Hawke.

It was, after all, what he had come here for.

To finally find the evidence that would put all doubts out of his mind, permanently.

Maybe now he would be able to move on.

To heal.

To accept all the blessings and bounties that made up his life.

And enjoy them as he was meant to.

Now he finally knew who he really was.

Could finally accept all the love and joy and happiness, that were his by right.

Because, he really was Stringfellow Santini.

Dominic's son.

Helen's husband.

Father to four beautiful children.

And brother to Skyler.

String let out a hearty sigh and a smile began to form on his lips.

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, son," Dominic Santini patted the younger man's cheek affectionately once more.

"It's all going to be all right now, Dad. Really," String assured, and Santini tilted his head slightly to regard his son's face more closely, surprised to find a look of peace settling on his familiar, chiselled features.

"Yeah."

"I know who I am now, and what I have to do," at this, Santini arched an eyebrow in enquiry. "I'm Stringfellow Santini. I know it for sure now. And, I have a lovely wife and a family to love and take care of," String's smile grew wider then. "And, a cantankerous old Dad, to fuss over."

"Hey, less of the old," Santini chided with a smile. "Welcome back, son," Santini's voice cracked now.

"Let's go home, Dad."

"Yeah. Let's go home."

String helped his father to his feet and then retrieved the small bunch of brightly coloured flowers that he had brought, and which had fallen to the ground when he had fallen to his knees before St John's grave, and separating the blooms out carefully, he placed a spray of flowers on top of each grave, and silently said goodbye to the parents he had lost so early in life, and the brother he had lost to a war that was long over.

And then, with a gentle smile, he slipped his arms around Dominic Santini's waist and together they walked back to the idling helicopter, without a backward glance, for now Stringfellow Santini was sure that there was only one direction his life needed to take.

One direction, in which for him to look for happiness, and contentment and peace.

Straight ahead

To the future.

For he had finally put the past behind him, where it belonged.

"Did she go off at last?" Stringfellow Santini asked sleepily, as he welcomed his loving wife, Helen, back into their bed and into his arms, and waited for her to snuggle up close to him.

She had been attending to their very demanding new daughter, and while she had changed the baby's diaper and then rocked her gently in her arms, as she nestled against her breast, he had briefly gotten up to check on the other children, gazing down at them in silent awe as they slept peacefully.

Still hardly able to believe that he, was responsible for their existence.

Before returning to their bed, to await Helen's return.

"Sleeping like a baby," Helen mumbled against his ribs as she relaxed and snuggled in even closer, seeking the comforting warmth of his body.

"At last."

"Get used to it love. We have quite a few years of broken nights ahead of us yet," Helen warned sleepily, but he felt the smile that curved at her lips. "Love you," she pressed soft, warm lips to his chest then and let out a soft, contented little sigh.

"Love you too," String reached down and gently stroked her soft hair, and she mumbled sleepily against his ribs, making him smile broadly in the darkness.

Marvelling at how quickly he had come to accept the gesture of love and intimacy from her.

Accept it, and expect it.

He was such a lucky man.

To have _**this**_ woman, as _**his**_ wife.

And he was sure _**now,**_ that she was _**his**_ wife.

No more doubts.

No more uncertainties.

No need to feel guilty any more for having such deep feelings of love and affection for her.

Such a desire, for her, as a woman.

Such a desperate _**need,**_ for her.

To feel her close to him, locked in his arms, her hot, passion flushed flesh pressed hard against his own.

He could give into these feelings now.

He could accept her advances.

And he could show her his true feelings for her in return.

She was _**his**_ wife.

Not another man's, as he had secretly feared.

He could accept it now.

Along with all the love she offered to him so freely, and unconditionally.

And the warmth of her body, and her embrace.

Helen Santini had noticed the change in her husband immediately.

Had seen the peace in his beautiful blue eyes, and something else too.

The love, for her, that she remembered so well, and had missed seeing there all these weeks.

And she had known that something momentous had happened to him, while he and Dominic had been out that morning, and had waited patiently for him to tell her, in his own good time.

She knew him well enough to know that he would finally open up to her.

When, he had found the right words.

But it didn't matter, because Helen thought that she knew.

Understood.

Whatever it was that had happened, had helped him to accept that he was the man they all loved, and that he had every right to all the love and happiness given to him freely, by those people around him.

Her husband had finally come home.

The man that she loved more than life, was finally back.

After dinner, when the kids were finally settled and the house was quiet at last, they had snuggled up together on the deck, watching the moonlight dancing on the constantly moving ocean beyond their back yard, and String had told her everything.

And she had held on to him, stroking his hair, caressing his face as he talked, wiping away the few errant tears that slipped from between his lashes and down his rough cheeks, as he told her of his shock at seeing his brother's grave.

Helen had held him tightly in her arms, rocking him gently as he poured out all the fears and doubts that had kept him from accepting that he was indeed Stringfellow Santini, and then, when he was calm and at peace in her arms, she had drawn him close for a long, deep kiss ….

And, at last, they had made love. Slowly, gently, passionately and deeply with reverence and love, and hunger and need.

And it had felt so right.

So beautiful.

And now, as Helen drifted off to sleep in his arms at last, Stringfellow Santini experienced a feeling of completeness and homecoming and belonging settle over him, and he knew that he was finally at peace with who he was.


	9. Chapter 9

Stringfellow Hawke came awake, eye lids fluttering, tentatively at first.

_**Heavy. **_

_**Too heavy.**_

Just like the rest of his body.

Like he was pulling 10G's, in a nose dive, on the test range.

Gravity, pushing him down on to a hard surface.

Awareness was returning, only very slowly.

Gradually.

The first thing he really registered was the noise.

A soft grunting sound ….

He forced his eyes open, and found Dominic Santini, sitting in an old metal framed chair beside his bed.

Snoring softly.

Chin buried in his chest, as his head nodding gently in rhythm with each snore.

Despite the pounding headache that was jabbing away at the inside of his skull like a jack hammer, and the fuzziness of his vision, Stringfellow found himself smiling, finding the fact that Dominic Santini was sitting there, sound asleep, reassuring somehow.

At least his condition was not life threatening then.

Whatever it was that had put him back in the hospital, couldn't be that serious.

Suddenly, Dominic Santini emitted the loudest of snores, jarring himself awake, and immediately his eyes grew wide, as he realised that the man in the bed was awake ….

And grinning at him like a fool.

"Well hello there. You done sleeping?"

"Hi, Dad," String chuckled drowsily.

"Dad?" Santini frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair and regarding the younger man with real concern. "You sure you're awake?"

At that moment, the door opened, and in bustled a slender redheaded woman, Caitlin O'Shannessy, carrying a couple of Styrofoam cups of vending machine coffee, but when she noticed that the patient in the bed was wide awake now, she let out a shriek of delight, hurrying across the room toward the bed, and almost poured the coffee over Dominic Santini as she thrust the cups at him, and rushed over to give Stringfellow Hawke a hug.

Yes ….

Stringfellow Hawke ….

Not Stringfellow Santini ….

The younger man realised with a sinking heart.

However, as she pulled away from him at last, Cait noticed the strange expression on Hawke's face.

"Hey, you look like you lost a dollar and found a dime! You had us really worried for a minute there, mister. You could at least try to look pleased to see us," she chastised, then noticed the tears welling up in Hawke's eyes, and the crestfallen expression on his handsome face.

"Hawke?"

"I'm sorry …. Cait?" Hawke stammered, confusion evident in his startling blue eyes, as he realised that his disappointment must be written all over his face.

"You were expecting someone else?" she joked.

"Helen …."

"Who?"

"Helen. My wife …."

As soon as the words were out, Hawke knew that they were wrong ….

And, it was confirmed to him, when Caitlin and Dominic Santini exchanged a concerned glance.

"Hey, I think that bang on the head was more serious than the doc said," this from Dominic Santini now, who had moved to perch himself on the edge of his chair. "That, or else he's still in dreamland."

"I'll go get the nurse," this from Cait, anxiety written all over her pretty face as she turned around and began to march across the room.

"Hey, wait a minute. Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here? Ouch," Hawke moaned, as, in trying to sit up in the bed, the pain that shot through his head threatened to split it in half, and a wave of nausea made his stomach roil.

"Take it easy, String," Dominic Santini was out of his chair quickly, laying a stilling hand on Hawke's shoulder as he noted the confusion and pain etched into the younger man's face now.

"Cait, don't go. I'm sorry," Hawke mumbled, closing his eyes against the pain briefly, feeling the hot tears coursing down his face as realisation began to dawn.

He was back where he belonged.

It _**had**_ all been a dream.

Every precious moment of it.

_**Nothing but a dream.**_

And he knew that he had never experienced such disappointment, such a feeling of loss, and emptiness, in his whole life before.

_**Gone.**_

All of it ….

_**Gone.**_

Just when he had been beginning to accept it.

Just when he had been beginning to enjoy it.

Just when he had been beginning to believe that it would go on forever.

Helen.

The children.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Caitlin standing beside Dominic, at his bedside, regarding him with open concern.

"It's ok," he felt obliged to reassure his friends, despite the fact that his whole world had just come tumbling down around his ears. "Why don't we start over, and you guys tell me where I am and how I got here?"

"You're in the hospital," Dominic Santini explained. "You had quite a nasty bang on the head. Been out of it for almost forty eight hours. Concussion. Lucky you still got a brain in that thick head of yours."

"What happened?"

"You should be more careful is what happened!" Dominic Santini growled. "You took a nose dive off of Ron Baxter's Gypsy Moth. Hell, I don't know what happened, I wasn't really looking. One minute you were up there fixing the wing wires, and the next. Splat!" Santini winced as he explained the accident that had befallen his young friend.

"Splat, huh?" Hawke swatted at the tears that were still rolling down his cheeks, and squinted still more from his eyes, however his vision remained slightly fuzzy and blurred and there was a knot of emotion building up inside him, closing his throat and tightening his chest muscles.

"Yeah. Splat. Out like a light. Frightened the life out of both of us! You'll be ok though," Santini assured. "A minor concussion, the doc says. You're lucky you got such a thick skull. Might have been a whole different story, if you'd landed on your ass."

"What day is it?" Hawke asked gruffly, looking from Caitlin to Dominic and then back to Caitlin.

"It's Monday. Monday 15th July, 1986. Am. Very Am, to be exact," Dominic Santini let out a deep sigh glancing at his watch and noting that it read 5.50am. "String?"

"I'm all right," Hawke lied. "Guess I must have been dreaming," he sighed deeply and settled back amongst his pillows. "Did I go to my physical?"

"Sure ya did. Passed A1. Never any doubt that you wouldn't get through," Caitlin smiled gently and patted his hand.

"Great," Hawke knew that he had to get a grip on himself, because he could see that his odd behaviour was worrying both of his friends, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

They had obviously both been worried about him.

Had stayed at his bedside, watching over him, until they were sure that he was going to be all right.

But, all he really wanted was for them to just go away and leave him alone.

So that he could give into his feelings.

Give into his grief.

Allow the tears to fall freely, and wash away the sorrow and the disappointment, and the feeling that he had lost something so very precious and important.

But, he couldn't.

No, he _**wouldn't **_do that in front of his friends.

They wouldn't understand.

They would think that there was something terribly wrong with him, and they would begin to worry all over again.

Hawke didn't want that.

"I'll go let the nurses know you're awake," Caitlin made to move away from the bed, but Hawke reached out for her hand and held it gently, fixing a smile on his face.

"I'm ok, Cait. Just a little disorientated," he confessed. "I guess I just need a few minutes, to get my head on straight, " he forced another smile then. "I'm sorry I frightened you. Both of you," he turned his attention back to Dominic Santini, who was watching him very carefully, a knowing look on his face, although the older man wisely kept his thoughts to himself. "And that I caused you both to have yet another sleepless night."

"I still think I should go tell the nurses. The doctor will probably want to take another look at you," Caitlin told him, but she was smiling softly at him now. "I'll be right back."

"Ask them what time they serve breakfast around here. I'm starved!" Hawke chuckled at the look on Caitlin's face.

"Oh well, now, if you're worried about your stomach already, there can't be that much wrong with you!"

Dominic Santini waited patiently until Caitlin had left the room, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he fixed a hard glare on Hawke.

"Wanna tell me how you _**really**_ feel?"

"I'm ok, Dom."

"In a pig's eye!" Santini contradicted.

"It's nothing."

"You never were a very good liar, String. At least not to my face."

"I …." Hawke could feel his throat closing and the tears threatening to overwhelm him once more. "Just the remnants of a dream."

"A nightmare?"

"No," Hawke denied quickly.

He knew what Dominic was referring to. The horrifically real nightmares, re-living his time in Vietnam, that periodically disturbed his sleep, whenever there was something on his mind.

"No Dom, not like that. I …. I can't explain. It was just so real," he choked on the lump in his throat then, and Dominic Santini pulled his chair up a little closer to the bed, worried by the uncharacteristic show of emotion from the younger man.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked gently.

"No …. I …. Maybe some other time, Dom. When I've had a chance to sort through it."

"Well, when you're ready. I'm here son, you know that."

"Yeah, I know that, Da …." Hawke caught himself up short then, as he realised what he had been about to say and drew in a deep, ragged breath.

"You can call me Dad, if you want to, String. I love you like you were my own son, you know that. I wouldn't be ashamed to call you my son …."

"I know, Dom, and I wouldn't ever be ashamed to have you as my Dad," Hawke reached out to Santini then, slipping his arm around the older man's neck gently, and drawing him close in a bear hug.

"I'm ok, now," he told the older man, when they parted.

"Sure you are," but, Santini did not look convinced. "Maybe we should leave you be. Let you get some proper sleep," he suggested tactfully. "You'll feel better, when you wake up."

Hawke doubted it, but he nodded in agreement, wincing when pain shot through his head and his stomach rolled over against his spine, sending a wave of nausea crashing over him.

"You know where I am, when you feel up to talking about it."

"Yeah."

"I'll go rescue those poor nurses from Caitlin," Santini rose from his perch and, hitching up his pants, began to walk toward the door. "Probably trying to teach them how to read a thermometer!" Santini turned at the door and grinned. "Get some rest."

"You, too."

"Plenty of work to do when you're up to it."

"There always is."

"And Archangel called, I think he had a job for you, but I told him you were out of town on business."

"Thanks. Is …. the Lady, ok?"

"She's fine. Right where you left her," Santini assured.

"Thanks. I'll be all right, Dom. I just need some time to myself."

"Sure. Be back later. You want me to bring you anything? Clothes? Razor? Grapes? Beer?"

"I don't think booze is going to help with the disorientation thing, Dom," Hawke grinned then.

"Who said you were going to be the one drinking it?" Santini chuckled. "Take it easy kid."

"I will, Dom. I love you," this again drew a curious look from Santini.

Each of them knew how the other felt, without the need for words.

Still, it was good for them both to hear it, and to say it, now and again, Santini thought to himself.

"I love you too. Get some rest."

No sooner had Dominic Santini closed the door softly behind him than the dam burst, and silent sobs overwhelmed Hawke's body, and scalding hot tears cascaded down his face endlessly.

_**Oh God!**_

He would never see them again.

Never see Helen, or Dom Junior, Christopher, Lucy or his precious baby Connie …. Never see them, hold them, feel them in his arms.

_**What would he do without them?**_

_**Were they real people, or had they just been a part of a very realistic dream?**_

They had certainly _**felt **_real enough, when he had held each of them in his arms.

And how his arms ached now to hold each of them once again …. If only for one last time.

It had ended too soon.

_**Too soon.**_

How would he ever explain it to Dom?

To anyone?

They would think that he had gone crazy.

But, Hawke knew that he had not.

Hawke knew that for whatever reason, he had been granted a taste of all the things that would enrich his life.

If, circumstances were different.

And he would never forget that.

Never forget them. Or, what they had done to enrich him and his life.

They had shown him what the future could hold for him.

If, he could just let go of this obsession, to find St John, first.

He had learned so much about himself, thanks to them.

He had liked what he had discovered.

He had liked Stringfellow Santini.

He had liked living Stringfellow Santini's life.

And now that he had had a taste of what that kind of life could be like, how was he ever going to go back to Stringfellow Hawke's solitary, sterile, soulless life?

The self imposed exile of his heart.

How could he go back to that, when he knew now just how wonderful life could be, with the right woman sharing it with him.

Loving and being loved.

Surrounded by happy, contented, children.

As he allowed his grief to wash over him, Stringfellow Hawke finally accepted that he really had no choice. He simply had to accept that the life he was living in the here and now, was the life that he had chosen for himself, and was the life that he was destined to live.

Stringfellow Santini's life was just that.

A whole universe away from the life that Stringfellow Hawke was destined to live.

He had no other choice but to accept it.

And move on.

But, as the grief and the sorrow consumed him, Hawke could not help wondering ….

What if?

What if Helen Maynard really did exist?

Hawke and Santini were one and the same person, except for the circumstances of their individual daily lives.

What if there really was a Helen Maynard out there?

Was it quite so far fetched to hope that maybe they were destined to meet one day?

And begin a life similar to the Santini's?

Was it too much to hope for?

As he buried his face in his pillow, Stringfellow Hawke suspected that for him, yes, it was just too much to expect.

_**This **_was his life, and he just had to accept that.

_**This**_ was his life, because it was the way that he had chosen to live, because of the dangers and perils he encountered daily.

That had not changed.

Even if something deep down inside of him had.

"Ain't that a lovely sight?" Dominic Santini commented on a deep sigh of pleasure and contentment. "I just love to see the sun rise from up here."

It was the first time that he and Stringfellow Hawke had been up in Airwolf since Hawke's little accident. A routine check flight, now that Hawke had been given the all clear by his doctors that he could fly again.

After he had gotten out of the hospital, Hawke had gone home, to his cabin up at Eagle Lake, and had remained there, isolated and remote, even when Dominic Santini had invited himself to dinner on the spur of the moment one evening, bringing wine and steak and Hawke's favourite cheese, to share.

Never one to talk too much, Hawke had remained silent for most of the evening, shrugging off all of Santini's efforts to draw him into conversation.

Santini had come away from the cabin feeling even more worried and uneasy, as the younger man had looked tired and pale and distracted.

Now that they were alone, and there was no chance of their conversation being overheard, Santini had decided to get to the bottom of what was eating at the younger man.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" Santini asked now without preamble.

"Actually, I was just looking at the main engine. Seems to be running a little hot …."

"Ok, hotshot," Santini sighed deeply. "That's _**not**_ what I meant and you know it. Are you gonna tell me what happened to get you so …. Upset?" Santini struggled to find the right word. "So damned out of sorts? You ain't been yourself since you woke up in the hospital," he pointed out.

"I'm fine, Dom."

"Dammit, will you stop fobbing me off!" Santini roared through the microphone in his helmet, and Hawke winced, deafened by the volume. "Stop taking me for a sucker, String, I know you, and I know when something ain't right. I'm not trying to stick my nose in where it don't belong, I'm worried about ya, kid. You've been miserable as a dog with fleas! Grumbling and grouching and giving us those stony looks of yours."

"I'm sorry, Dom," Hawke sighed deeply, and he truly was sorry.

He knew he had been miserable, hard to reach and difficult to get along with, these past few days, but he had deliberately shut himself off from everything and everyone, to try to get back into his old routine, so that things …. _**He**_ …. could get back to normal as quickly as they could.

But, it hadn't worked.

He suspected that things would _**never**_ truly go back to the way they had been before.

Because, things just weren't the same any more.

_**He wasn't the same any more.**_

His perspective had changed.

He just couldn't get Helen Santini out of his mind.

He couldn't shake her face from his memory.

Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he could see her smiling at him, smell her perfume, feel the heat of her body close to his own, as she snuggled up close to him as she settled herself for sleep ….

Just as she had the last time that he had seen her ….

Before waking up in the hospital, once more.

It was driving him crazy.

He did not know how it was possible, but she was even _**more**_ real to him now, than when he had been living that life.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

What was she doing, how was she coping with the new baby?

What had happened to Stringfellow Santini, in that other life?

Had things gone on as before for them too?

"Don't be sorry, son, just talk to me. Get it off your chest, for God's sake. Stewin' on it ain't doing you any good. Been meaner than a bear with a hornet up its ass these past couple of days, even Cait said I should maybe get you to take a happy pill, 'cos she's tired of you snarlin' at her."

"I haven't been that bad? Have I?"

However, now that he thought about it, Hawke realised that he had been less than polite and diplomatic with those closest to him.

"I'll apologise to her when we get back," Hawke sighed deeply.

"That apology better consist of at least a dozen red roses, and an offer for dinner somewhere real expensive."

"Ok, ok, I get the point."

"Now spit it out! You know you can trust me, String, it won't go no further, but, I think you know you gotta talk to someone. Up here, it's just you and me and the Lady …."

"I don't know how to explain it."

"How bad can it be? Just start at the beginning, but, start somewhere. You got me and Cait both so worried that you are sick, that that bang on the head was more serious than you're letting on."

"It's nothing like that, Dom. It's just …. Well …. Oh hell …."

"String?"

"All right, Dom. When I was in the hospital, er, I had a dream, except, it wasn't like any dream I've ever had before. It was so real. Like I was _**really**_ living it."

"A dream? All this is about some dream?" Dominic Santini's voice rose in incredulity now.

"Yeah, Dom," Hawke sighed. He had known that Santini would not really understand. "Just some crazy dream."

"Ok. So what of it?" Santini coaxed, picking up something in the younger man's tone of voice then. "I thought you said it wasn't a nightmare."

"It wasn't. It was …. It was, beautiful," Hawke's voice cracked then, and this made Santini frown.

"You ok?"

"No Dom. No. I've never felt like this before. I never knew I _**could**_ feel like this before …."

"Like what?"

"Like everyone I ever loved, all died at the same time. Like I lost everything that is precious to me. Like I lost everything that was ever important to me, and I'll never get them back …."

"Lost _**what**_, String, you're not making any sense. What the hell was this dream about!" Santini demanded.

"A different life."

"Huh?"

"A different life, Dom, where I was happily married, and had a handful of beautiful, laughing, contented, kids, a father who adored me, and whom I adored in return and, a life that was so full of love and affection and peace. A life so completely opposite to what is real."

"Like a fantasy?"

"Maybe," Hawke sighed again. "But it was _**very**_ real. I could _**touch**_ things, _**feel**_ things, _**taste**_ things …. _**Smell**_ things …. It wasn't like one of those silly dream sequences, in a movie, Dom. a veil of mist and echoing voices. The people where real. _**Very real**_."

"I think you'd better tell me all about it. Nice and slow."

"Ok. Well, it started when I woke up in the hospital. Not this time, when I saw you sitting there, snoring your head off, but the first time, when I woke up, after being in a coma for almost four months."

"A coma!" Hawke heard the crack in Santini's voice then, but decided to ignore it and just plough on with his story, while his nerve still lasted.

"And the nurses and doctors kept calling me Stringfellow Santini."

"Stringfellow Santini?" Dominic echoed.

""Yeah, Dom. That's why I called you Dad, when I woke up. I thought I was still there. Still in that idyllic place."

"Oh."

Although he found it very difficult to explain all of it, Stringfellow Hawke told the older man everything, trying to make it seem as real as it had been to himself.

About being told that his parents had died in a fire at the cabin, not drowned in the lake, and that Dominic Santini and his wife Maria, had taken him in, and adopted him when he was ten years old.

About discovering that St John had been killed in action in Vietnam, and that he had been wounded so badly, in the same piece of action, he had been confined to a wheelchair for months and told that he would never walk again.

About finding out that he had a twin sister, called Skyler.

About Helen Santini, and the family they had created together, and how he had felt at witnessing the birth of his daughter, Connie.

Constance Maria named for his mother and adopted mother.

And what it had felt like to hold her in his arms for the very first time.

Dominic Santini sat in stunned silence and listened to every word the younger man uttered, but the thing that impressed him most of all, was the depth of emotion that was in the younger man's voice, as he explained everything that had happened to him, and Santini knew that it was more than just a story about a dream he had had.

Hawke truly _**believed**_ that he had been there, that he had felt it and lived it and tasted it and breathed it.

To him it had been very real.

And it had obviously affected him very deeply.

"And you know the hardest thing for me to accept, Dom? I didn't want to come back. I _**liked**_ that life. I _**liked **_being Stringfellow Santini, _**your son**_, Helen's husband, and those terrific kids' Dad. I didn't want to let that life go, And right now, I would give anything to be able to go back there. _**Anything**_," Hawke concluded on a ragged sigh.

No wonder the younger man had seemed so distant.

So, unhappy, since he had gotten out of the hospital, Santini thought silently to himself.

He had made it all sound so wonderful, so perfect.

Idyllic.

Everything that any man could want, or hope for, or dream of.

And yes, so completely different to the life he was really living.

"But you _**can't**_ go back there, String, because it _**ain't**_ real," Santini reasoned. "It was just a very vivid dream, son. We all have dreams like that, from time to time, except that most of us have forgotten them by the time we hit the shower. Just left with that big soppy grin on our faces, that we just can't explain," he paused for a moment then continued.

"_**This,**_ is real life, _**this, **_is what you _**do,**_ and who you _**are**_. No matter how hard it is, you have to let it go."

"I can't. I've tried," Hawke confessed raggedly. "But, I can't get them out of my head. I can't stop thinking that she might _**really**_ exist, that she might be out there, just waiting for me to find her."

"Helen?"

"Yes."

"That's crazy."

"I _**know**_! But, I can't get the idea out of my head, Dom."

"I don't know anyone called Helen."

"I know that, Dom, and I never changed my name to Santini. You never adopted me. I don't have a twin sister and, I still believe that St John is alive out there, somewhere, but, so much of Stringfellow Santini's life was similar to mine. What if Helen really _**is**_ out there, and she is the woman I am meant to be with for the rest of my life?"

"Oh boy," Santini let out a soft sigh. "Then I guess you better try to find her, 'cos you ain't never gonna settle until you know for sure."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Me neither, son, but, we both know a guy who would. If you were prepared to ask him …." Santini's voice trailed away, but Hawke knew perfectly well who he was referring to.

"Archangel."

"Archangel." Santini confirmed. "You know, he'll probably laugh you out of his office, but, he does have the resources to try to find someone."

Stringfellow Hawke knew that Santini was right.

Archangel would think that he had completely lost the plot, lost his hold on reality.

Once he had stopped laughing that was.

Maybe it wasn't so far from the truth.

Maybe he _**had**_ lost his grip on reality? Hawke could not help thinking silently to himself.

He knew how ridiculous it all sounded.

Even to his own ears, as he had been trying to explain it all to Dominic Santini just now.

But, he couldn't shake the notion.

He also knew that Dominic Santini was right about something else too.

He would not be able to settle until he knew for sure, one way or the other.

"You really believe she exists, don't ya, String?"

"I don't know, Dom," there was frustration in Hawke's voice now and Santini wished that there was something that he could say, or do, to make it right for the younger man. "I just know I can't get the idea out of my head," Hawke confessed raggedly.

"Well, maybe it ain't so crazy, or far fetched after all?" Dominic mused aloud. "Say you saw her, briefly, maybe you never did know her name, just seen her in some bar or restaurant, or in the line at the grocery store, but didn't pay her no mind, and didn't give it any thought after that. Then, when you were out cold, your subconscious mind dredged up the memory, and allowed you to give her a name and slot her into your nice, cosy little dream world?"

"Gee, Dom, you make it sound like something out of the Twilight Zone!" Hawke groaned expressively.

"Hey kid, it's _**your**_ fantasy," Santini countered. "Is my theory any crazier or dumber than yours?"

"No, I guess not. But, it was so damned real, Dom, and I can't shake the idea that she is out there. Somewhere."

"Then you gotta do something about it. For the sake of your sanity, and those of us who care about you too. You've been impossible to be around, String. I don't know how much longer Cait and I could have put up with your grouching and your moodiness. Go talk to Archangel, and find out once and for all, else you'll never be able to get back to normal."

"I'll think about it."

"No, don't think about it. _**Do it!**_ You know it's the right thing to do. For everyone. It ain't gonna be easy, and maybe you won't like what you find out. But, at least you'll know for sure and then maybe you'll be able to move on."

"Ok," Hawke agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Thanks for the fatherly advice."

"You're welcome, son. Just make sure you act on it."

"Ok, ok, already."

"Ya know, String, that other life you told me about, in your dream. nobody wants that life for you more than I do. But only you can do something about it, even if you don't find this Helen Maynard woman. Haven't I been telling you all these years, that you ain't gonna find yourself a wife and have a bunch of kids, shutting yourself away from the world up there at the cabin? Maybe you're ready to start looking for the right woman, to make that life with now? Maybe that's the whole point of the dream? There is a woman, just like this Helen, waiting for you out there, String, I'm sure of it, but you've got to be willing to accept her, when she does come along. You can't go on living this empty, solitary existence forever my friend, or else you really will go crazy."

"You through?"

"Guess so."

"Good, then gimme turbos, it's time we turned this baby around and took her home ….."

"Ok Hawke, you got me out here, want to let me in on the secret?"

"I wanted to talk to you, in private," Hawke sighed deeply, sitting stiffly in his seat and regarding Michael Coldsmith Briggs III with cold blue eyes. "I didn't want an audience. What I want to talk to you about is, personal, and rather, delicate."

That was why he had persuaded Archangel to meet him on a crowded street corner, and then driven him out here to the edge of the desert, as the sun began to sink slowly toward the horizon.

"I'm intrigued."

"And if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone, I will personally disembowel you."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Archangel quipped.

"Michael, I'm being serious here."

"So I see."

"Believe me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't have come to you with this. But …."

"All right, I'll bite."

"I need some information."

"On St John, no doubt," Archangel drawled, letting out a deep sigh. "I already gave you what we have."

"No," Hawke cut in.

This drew an arched eyebrow from the government agent in white.

"Oh?"

"I need you to find …. a woman."

"Oh dammit, Hawke, you can't use the FIRM's resources for your own personal dating service," Archangel wrestled with a grin then, enjoying the other man's obvious discomfort.

"Michael," Hawke growled the warning. "Not just _**any**_ woman!"

"No, of course not. That figures. Not just _**any old**_ woman, for Stringfellow Hawke!"

"Are you gonna shut up and listen, or do I toss your booty out of here and leave you for the coyotes and buzzards to pick over your bones in the morning?" Hawke snarled.

"Temper, temper …."

"Michael …."

"All right, I'll listen, just make it snappy will you, these desert nights are a little chilly and this suit is lightweight summer material …."

"What I am about to tell you is serious, Michael, not a joke, not some prank. It is serious and deeply personal, and it galls the hell outta me, that I need _**your**_ help to resolve the issue."

"That's a helluva way to ask for a favour, Hawke."

"Dammit, Michael …."

"Ok, ok …. Just get on with it, whatever _**it**_ is."

"It's very important to me, Michael, and you need to understand that I am not yanking your chain here. So, if you laugh, or even smirk, you'll be picking your teeth out of that mess of cactus over there, for a week …."

"All right, Hawke, I guess I owe you the chance to get whatever it is off your chest. Shoot."

"Don't tempt me, Michael," Hawke growled, then, settling back in the driver's seat of the Santini Air jeep, began to explain what it was he wanted from the Government agent, and, somewhat reluctantly, his reasons for making this unusual request.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III heard Hawke's story out, then sat in silence for several minutes watching the stars begin to fill the night sky overhead, and the moon rise above the distant horizon.

"That has to be just about the weirdest thing I ever heard," he finally let out a deep sigh. "But you know something …. I believe you."

This drew a startled look from Hawke.

"Yes. I believe you, Hawke, because you're just too practical, realistic, pragmatic, grounded and down to earth, to have just made up something like this. You're not prone to flights of fancy …. And you don't have _**that**_ much imagination. It _**has**_ to have happened, or at least you _**believe **_that it happened. And it appears to have had a remarkable affect on you."

"So will you help me or not?"

"I can run a check on the name, certainly, but, there's no guarantee that the computer will come up with anything."

"Don't worry, Michael, I won't kill you if you don't find her," Hawke sighed deeply.

"Can I have that in writing please?"

"I just need to know, one way or the other."

"And if she _**is**_ real? If, she _**does**_ exist? What will you do? Try to sweep her off her feet with your rugged good looks, and your boyish charm? What if she doesn't want anything to do with you?"

"Frankly Michael, that's none of your business."

"Easy, tiger, but I think it is. At the moment, I'm buying this cock and bull story of yours, but what if you have an entirely different ulterior motive in mind? How do I know you don't have some murderous intent?"

"Because you know _**me,**_ Michael."

"Yes, I know _**you**_, Hawke, and you don't always do everything by the book."

"This one is off the record, Michael. Just between you, and me."

"And what do I get in return?"

"My assurance, that I won't turn all of Airwolf's weapons on you."

"Somebody already beat you to it."

"Ok, Michael. I'll fly as many damned Airwolf missions as you need, if _**you**_ will just do this one thing for _**me**_."

"Any kind of mission, no matter how crazy, or dangerous, or covert?"

"Anything, Michael," Hawke sighed deeply, his shoulders rising almost up to his ears before he expelled the breath loudly. "You play dirty."

"That's why I'm where I am, and you're not."

"No competition, Michael. I never wanted to be in your shoes. Never will. So? Do I get my information?"

"I'll run her name through the computer, and let you know what comes out the other end, but like I said, there are no guarantees."

"I'm not asking for guarantees. Just a little peace of mind."

"I can't guarantee you'll get that either, Hawke, but I will do my best to find her, _**if **_she exists."

"Thank you, Michael."

"I'll also check out the other details you remember. There may be something in it."

"Thanks, Michael."

"Can we go now, please, my Southern constitution can't take too much more of this evening desert chill, but I have to say, Hawke, you do know how to show a guy a good time …."

"Cute Michael …." Hawke snarled, turning on the engine and revving it loudly, then rammed the jeep into gear and slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator. "Real cute …."

_**One week later …. **_

_**Stringfellow Hawke's Cabin, Eagle Lake.**_

"Gee Michael, what took you so damned long?" Stringfellow Hawke sighed deeply as he watched the older man limp heavily across the room to where he was standing, behind the bar.

He had anticipated that the government agent would come up with something on Helen Maynard within a few hours of his making the request, but when days had stretched into a week, before he had called him at the hangar, Hawke had begun to think that he would blow a gasket.

Tet was sprawled out in front of the roaring log fire, and let out a loud yawn, before closing his eyes once more, knowing from past experience that there would be no tasty titbits coming his way from this particular visitor, and that nor was he a threat to his master.

"Look, Hawke, I may be the Deputy Director of Special Projects, but even I have to justify computer time," Archangel replied a little breathlessly, as he struggled to climb up on to one of the high stools at the bar, and watched with relief as Hawke poured him a glass of red wine from a half full bottle sitting on the counter.

"And you wanted this to remain between the two of us. So, I had to pick my time, and the person I went to, to help me run the computer data. I also had to have a plausible reason for asking the guy to give up his computer for me to use, during his lunch break," Archangel sighed deeply. "In the end, the best I could come up with was, that her name had come up in an investigation. Tentatively ID'd as a murder victim."

Archangel saw the anxious look on Hawke's face.

"We are a law enforcement, and prevention agency, Hawke, the only reason I would be needing to run a name through the computer, was in connection with a crime, looking for either a suspect or a victim."

"Who else knows about this?" Hawke glowered at him, then, lowered his gaze to the thin file that Archangel had placed on the bar counter between them.

"No-one. Not specific details anyway. The only person who even knows I was down there in the computer lab, is the guy whose computer console I used. That's all. I swear. No-one else. Not even Marella," Archangel assured, although, he had had the devil's own job keeping it from her.

She wasn't stupid and she knew him very well.

She had been very much aware that something was afoot, and more than a little irritated with his reluctance to fill her in.

"That can't have been easy," Hawke acknowledged on a sigh of understanding at the look on the other man's moustachioed face.

"She'll get over it. Got other fish to fry," but Archangel did not elaborate, and Hawke knew better than to ask about the FIRM's business interests, that did not directly involve himself and Airwolf.

"Did you read it?"

"Don't think that I wasn't tempted, Hawke, but, out of respect for your request for privacy, no, I did not," Archangel assured, taking a sip of his wine. "And I made sure that I deleted all the information I entered."

"Thanks. I mean it, Michael. It means a lot to me."

"Hadn't you better read what it says first?" Archangel advised.

"I'm not sure I can, but, I guess as you're here, waving that file under my nose …. She _**does**_ exist." he tried to sound matter of fact, but his heart was racing in his chest, and his fingers were burning to reach out for the file.

"I guess. Hell, I don't know, Hawke. Like I said, I didn't read it, just scooped up the report that the computer spat out, and got outta there ASAP, before the operator came back from lunch and could ask too many questions. For all I know, that could be Levenworth's laundry list, or Quantico's grocery order for the next month," he grinned, taking a sip of the red wine. "This is good," he indicated to the wine. "Your taste is improving."

"I know it was a big ask, Michael. Did you try to check out the rest of the details of my …. Story?"

"Of course," Archangel confirmed, setting down his glass on the bar, but his fingers continued to play with the patterned foot. "More holes in it than Swiss Cheese, but, I kind of expected that."

Archangel could not mistake the look of disappointment in Hawke's blue eyes.

"But, here's the damnedest thing, Hawke. Bits of it were real."

"They were?"

"Sure. For instance, there really is a place called Elkington, in California, and it does have a hospital with a specialist head trauma unit, for coma patients."

"But dammit, how would I _**know**_ that?"

"Beats me, Hawke, and before you ask, there is no record of a patient called Stringfellow Santini or Stringfellow Hawke."

"You checked?" Hawke was surprised. Archangel really was taking this seriously.

"Of course I checked," Archangel sighed expressively then, twisting his wine glass in his fingers.

"Is that all?" Hawke could not hide his disappointment.

"It's enough for me to believe that your brain hasn't gone completely AWOL, Hawke. One other thing, none of the airlines, domestic or overseas carriers report having a Captain Stringfellow Santini on their books, and there is no record of an air liner having crashed in the desert, in the last ten to fifteen years."

Hawke had suspected as much.

Something like that would have been big news, and it would have stuck in his memory.

"Oh well."

"And whilst I was checking your story, there is no record of the birth, marriage or death of one Skyler Hawke/Santini. As you know, there is no record of the death of St John Hawke, he's still listed as MIA, and there is no record of a St John Santini either."

"Thanks Michael. For checking it out for me."

"Did you ever consider taking up fiction writing? One of your dreams could turn out to be a best seller," Archangel chuckled then, picking up his wine glass and downing the last of its contents.

"You could have a point there," Hawke sighed deeply. "Thanks for all of your hard work on this."

"Oh, don't worry, Hawke, you'll pay for it, one way or another."

"I don't doubt it, Michael. See ya around."

Archangel knew that he had been dismissed and smiled softly at Hawke.

"I hope it works out for you, Hawke. One way, or another."

"Yeah." and with that, Archangel took his leave, curious to know how Hawke would deal with the contents of the file, but knowing that his company would not be appreciated.

Stringfellow Hawke waited for half an hour after he heard Archangel's helicopter depart from the jetty out there on the edge of the lake, before finally reaching out to draw the file with the FIRM's logo embossed on the front closer to him, and flipped it open.

There was only one sheet of paper inside, he noted with irritation.

However, the first thing that greeted him was a photograph of Helen Maynard ….

From the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Indeed, the only piece of paper inside the file was an application form for a driving licence renewal, dated six months back, Hawke noted as he scanned the sheaf of paper quickly.

However he could not keep his eyes off the photograph.

Her lovely face, just as he remembered it, staring back at him from beneath a paperclip on the top right hand corner of the sheaf of paper.

My God!

_**She was real.**_

She really_** did**_ exist …. And, she was as lovely as he remembered her.

He reached out with trembling fingers and traced the line of her cheek and jaw with his finger, then closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

He had been right.

She was real.

She was out there. Somewhere.

All he had to do was read the application form and he would have a place to start ….

An address ….

Somewhere he could go to look for her.

_**If,**_ he decided that was a wise thing to do, he suddenly told himself sternly.

Six months was a long time.

She might have moved on.

She could be anywhere in California by now.

And, if, he _**did**_ seek her out?

What the hell would he say to her?

How would he explain his sudden appearance on her doorstep?

Disrupting her life with his crazy ravings, about finding her in his dreams.

_**Oh God!**_

The more he thought about it, the crazier it seemed.

Just because he had the information at his fingertips, it didn't mean that he had to act on it.

Couldn't it just be enough to know that he hadn't conjured her up out of thin air?

_**No.**_

Now that he knew that she was real, that she did exist, he knew that he just had to go find her, see her, to discover if he felt the same way about her, in the real world.

And find out, once and for all if she could ever feel the same way about him.

All he had to do was read the piece of paper in the file on the counter before him.

But first, he needed another drink ….


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, are you gonna put me out of my misery?" Dominic Santini shouted over the noise of the idling engine, and fixed Stringfellow Hawke with a glare, hands planted firmly on his substantial hips, as he waited for the younger man to answer his question.

Santini was standing beside the brightly painted Santini Air Bell Jet Ranger helicopter, which he had flown up to Eagle Lake to collect Hawke from the cabin, blocking Hawke's way to the passenger side with his bulk.

"What did Archangel have to say?" he asked again, with a look of exasperation on his face.

"I'll tell you on the way to town! If you think I'm gonna stand here and shout over that," Hawke indicated with his thumb, to the idling main rotor over head, which was kicking up dust and creating waves on the lake, the noise deafening.

Reluctantly Santini moved out of the way, returning to his own side of the chopper and climbing in. When Hawke was settled in his seat and had put on his headphones, Santini gently lifted the chopper up off the jetty, and pointed the majestic machine back out over the lake the way he had come.

"Well?"

Stringfellow Hawke let out a deep sigh.

"She's real, Dom."

"Say what?"

"She's real. She really exists."

"Wow!" Santini whistled through his teeth. "How's about that! But, you knew, didn't you?"

"I had a feeling," Hawke clarified.

"It was more than just that, and you know it! You got her address? Phone number? What?"

"I have an address she gave to the DMV, six months ago."

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"What!" Santini roared over the radio, his tone incredulous.

"At least I know I'm not going crazy. At least she isn't just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I should just be satisfied with that, Dom."

"And what happened to your notion that she's the girl of your dreams? Pardon the pun! You can't just let it go at that. You have to go see her."

"Maybe."

"Maybe, he says! Maybe! Oh boy, String, sometimes I wonder about you," Santini sighed expressively. "Do you want that dream to become reality or not?"

"Yes. But, it's not that simple, Dom. I can't just turn up on her doorstep and say, hi, remember me?"

"Why not, the worst that could happen is that she would slam the door in your face and call the cops."

"Exactly."

"Or, she might just be curious enough to invite you in, to hear your story. You ain't such a bad looker, ya know, String. Maybe she'd find it amusing. An ingenious pick up line! Hell, she might just do it to enjoy the view! At the very least, it might get your foot in the door!"

"Or a slap around the chops," Hawke sighed deeply when Dominic Santini let out a loud guffaw at this remark. "It's not funny, Dominic."

"No, I know," Although Santini continued to chortle to himself. "I can see the fix you're in,"

"Damned if I do, and damned if I don't," Hawke intoned solemnly.

"You want me to come with you and hold your …. Coat?"

"Now that you mention it, a little moral support wouldn't go amiss," Hawke sighed. "Dad."

"You mean that?" Santini suddenly sobered. "You want me to come with you, you only have to ask."

"Maybe it isn't such a bad idea? I could need someone to post bail for me," Hawke sighed expressively again, and forced himself to smile sheepishly at Santini. "Oh, Dom …. Is it the right thing to do? To go looking for her?"

"Hell, String, how should I know?"

"I thought you knew everything, Dad."

"I like you calling me that, String, but you can have too much of a good thing, especially if you want me to give you good fatherly advice," Santini grumbled.

"Ok. Dom."

"Just remember what happened to my kid."

"That wasn't your fault, Dom."

"No? We both know I wasn't there for her, when she needed me."

"You've always been there for me, Dom. Even when I was at my most moody and 'ornery, and nobody else could even stand to be in the same room with me. You understand me, Dom, better than any other man alive. Including myself some times. Can I ask you a question?"

"You tryin' to change the subject?"

"Only for a minute."

"Ok, what do you want to know?"

"The night I was born, were you with my Dad, at the hospital?"

"Of course I was. Back in those days a guy needed all the moral support from his best buddy, he could get."

"And what did you and Dad do while you waited?"

"Where are you going with this, String?"

"Just answer the question, Dom."

"We talked. 'Bout our escapades in the war, and we paced. Up and down, and back and forth, for hours, oh yeah, and your Dad smoked two packs of Camels that night, practically one after the other like candy, but you know your Dad didn't usually smoke, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Always wondered why he couldn't stand to be around people who did. Did you ever tell me that story before?"

"No. Now that you mention it, I don't think I ever did. Man, oh man, was your Mom mad with him. He got so sick, he was outside throwing up when the doctors told us he could go in and see you. I had to go in and tell Connie that he was feeling a little, off colour."

"And she asked you to be my Godfather, and let you hold me."

"Yeah. How in the hell did you know that?" Santini turned his head briefly to look at Hawke aghast. "I _**never**_ told _**you,**_ that. I _**never**_ even told Steven, that. He was my best buddy, and I always felt a little guilty that I got to hold his newborn son before he did."

"The dream Dominic Santini told me," Hawke confided softly. "Told me that, that was when he knew that I was going to be the closest thing to having a real son that he was ever going to get. Said my Mom asked him to be my Godfather, and gave me to him to hold, while Dad held Skyler. My twin sister."

"I'll treasure the memory of that moment until my dying day," Santini confessed hoarsely. "You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Oh yeah, I had held St John, loads of times, but that night, it was different. You came into my arms straight from your Momma's, and I was only the second person in all the world, to see those beautiful, innocent, trusting, blue eyes, see that scrunched up, angry little red face, relax and gaze back up at me with such trust and love …. Yeah, that moment was very precious to me String, and I never told anyone about it. I don't think Connie ever told Steven either, not wanting to hurt his feelings."

"No. I don't think she did either, Dom."

"So, how the hell do you know about that?"

"I don't know, Dom, but as soon as the dream Dominic told me, I believed him. I knew it was true. There, _**and**_ in the real world too. It was obvious that he had formed a deep bond with the newborn child."

"I know I felt very honoured and privileged to be allowed to hold you that night. Connie knew that. She knew how much I cared for the two of them. Steven was my best buddy, and I loved him like a brother, but I loved her just as much. Like a sister," he clarified hoarsely.

"Dom, I'm not trying to say that there was anything between you and my Mom. I know that you're not my _**real**_ Dad. But …. If there was anyone in this world who was destined to step into his shoes, when he was gone …. It was you."

"Gee, String."

"And you did a great job, Dom. We don't talk about it, mainly because I don't find it easy to open up. But, after that dream, after what I felt, as Stringfellow Santini, after experiencing the kind of loving, affectionate relationship they had as father and son. And after what I felt, Stringfellow Santini felt, when they laid his newborn daughter in his arms for the first time, that heady rush of love and pride and elation …. I've done a lot of thinking, about what you really mean to me Dominic, and although I may never have said it, you've been more of a father to me than I ever had any right to expect, and I haven't exactly been the model son."

"You weren't so bad. Gave me a few bad minutes, now and again," Santini tried to brush it off, surprised by the younger man's sudden eloquence, and slightly embarrassed by the sudden unusual show of emotion from him.

"If I never say it again, Dominic Santini, know this. I love you, every bit as much as if you were my real father. You are very dear to me. Thank you, for everything that you have done for me, and will do for me in the future. I am so proud to have you in my corner, Dad."

"I'm proud of you too, son, and I have loved you like my own, since the day your mother put you in my arms," Santini confirmed in a rough voice, deeply touched by what the younger man had just said, for he knew how difficult it must have been for him to find the words to express his true feelings.

"Now, getting back to the woman of your dreams," he decided to change the subject before Hawke became embarrassed with his confession of love and withdrew into himself, and Santini himself gave into the tears that threatened at the back of his throat.

"I don't know."

"Ah, c'mon String, there's no time like the present."

"What about work, Dom?"

"Cait can hold the fort. I know she won't mind. Look, String, she's been as worried about you as me, and I know she can't wait for you to get your head straightened out, and get back to your usual sweet tempered self," Santini grinned then and was rewarded by one of Hawke's sour looks and a deep, shoulder shrugging sigh from his companion.

"We both know that you didn't go to Archangel for help simply to prove that you weren't going loco. What's the address?"

Hawke told him, and Santini grinned as he realised where it was.

"That's not too far from the airfield String, so maybe you did run into her in the grocery store line?"

"I don't think so, Dom. She wasn't familiar to me in the dream. I knew in the dream that I had never seen her before," Hawke confided.

"So?"

"Ah, Dom."

"C'mon. Give yourself a break, kid. Who knows what might come of it?" Hawke nodded gently, knowing that the older man was right. He also knew that now that he knew the address, the old man wouldn't leave it alone until he did go and take a look.

Knowing also that Dominic might even take it into his head to go take a look for himself. Curious to know, what kind of woman Hawke had conjured up, as his daughter in law.

"All right!" Dominic Santini chuckled, and Stringfellow Hawke let out another deep sigh of exasperation.

_**What did he have to lose?**_

Back at the hangar, Dominic Santini and Stringfellow Hawke safely set down the chopper and headed straight for where the Santini Air jeep was parked. Caitlin O'Shannessy came rushing out to greet them, but was forced to stand, hands planted firmly on her hips and her jaw hanging open in astonishment, as she watched both men climb into the jeep, Santini in the driver's seat, gunning the engine and grinning broadly at her as he waved.

"What the!" Caitlin yelled over the sound of the engine.

"Things to do, places to be, people to see!" Santini laughed loudly.

"But, hey! What about?" Cait shouted after them, but it was pointless, her words lost to the two men in the jeep, as Santini slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and headed for the airfield exit.

"Hey Dom, take it easy will you," Hawke had to shout to make himself heard. "Don't want to get us killed before we get there."

Still grinning, Dominic Santini slowed down a little and found his way on to the freeway.

In a little under half an hour they were cruising slowly down the street that Helen Maynard had given as her address for her driver's licence. It was part residential and part retail, small shops with small apartments over the top, and Helen Maynard's apartment, when they found it at last, was situated over a second hand book store that looked tired and run down, and badly in need of a lick or two of paint, but from the volume of traffic going in and out, it was well patronised.

Santini and Hawke investigated the alley down the side of the building, and discovered that there was a side door, leading onto a flight of stairs up to the apartment, and while Santini stayed outside, Hawke slowly climbed the stairs and stood outside the door, hand poised to knock, palms sweating and his heart knocking against his ribs.

"Whatchya waiting for?" Santini called from the bottom of the stairs and rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation, Hawke finally knocked on the solid wooden door.

There was no answer.

He leaned in closer to the door to see if he could make out any sounds from within, but all was quiet.

He knocked again and when again there was no reply he turned and glanced back down the stairs at Santini, who shrugged.

"Could be she's out at work?" He suggested.

"Now why didn't _**I **_think of that," Hawke muttered darkly, and sighing deeply, hurried back down the stairs.

"Maybe the guy in the store knows something?" Santini again suggested helpfully, as Stringfellow Hawke joined him outside in the sunlight once more. "Maybe they got the same landlord?"

"Maybe he _**is**_ the landlord?"

"Yeah."

"Can I help you gentlemen?" the man behind the counter in the book store asked as Santini and Hawke did a poor job of trying to look like a couple of interested customers. Santini leaned casually against a row of book shelves filled with old books, and watched as Hawke walked casually up to the counter.

"We're looking for someone. The lady who rents the apartment upstairs."

"Mrs Walters?" The storekeeper frowned. "She's away this week, visiting her cousin in Cleveland. You the guys who promised to paint her apartment last week? Ya know, just because she's old and a little deaf, don't mean you can take advantage of her. She was real sore you guys didn't turn up last week."

"Do we look like decorators?" Hawke asked, raising one eyebrow sardonically, then before the other man could answer asked: "This Mrs Walters, would her name be Helen by any chance?"

"No, Maud," the storekeeper informed with a frown, then, a look of realisation crossed his face. "You mean Helen Maynard?" Hawke nodded then.

Now they were getting somewhere.

"Gee, man, she ain't been around here for months," the storekeeper told him.

"Oh?" Hawke frowned.

"Nice lady."

"Young, slim, maybe early thirties, dark hair and green eyes?" Hawke quizzed, wanting to be sure that they were talking about the same woman at last.

"Yeah, that's Helen, but, like I said, she ain't been around for a while."

"How long a while?"

"I'm not sure. A few months. Someone came by and collected her things, paid up what was left of the rent and that was that."

"Didn't they leave a forwarding address for her mail?"

"No. Who are you guys, anyway?" the storekeeper grew suspicious now.

"Friends." Hawke growled. "Who collected her things?"

"Some dame."

"What dame?"

"Some dame she worked with, I think."

"Where'd she work?"

"Couple of blocks from here, the offices of, Dr William Doyle. He's an Orthodontist, Helen was his receptionist."

"Thanks. Couple of blocks from here?"

"Yeah, take a right at the end of the street and just keep going, can't miss it."

"Nice technique," Dominic Santini quipped as Hawke joined him at the door to the street.

"Ya think?" Hawke threw him a withering look.

"You were a little rough on him, weren't you?" Santini commented as they emerged from the shop into the sunlight once more.

"Was I?" Hawke glowered at Santini as he set off down the street. "Got us what we wanted, didn't I, and he's still vertical."

"We're obviously in the wrong job, String," Dominic Santini commented, whistling his approval of the plush, glass fronted Orthodontist's office through his teeth, as the two men stood on the street outside, reading the shiny, silver plaque on the wall. "Must be a lot of money in teeth," he grinned, revealing the small gap between his own top front teeth.

"Dr Doyle doesn't share his wealth with his employees," Hawke observed with a sour look, indicating the obvious difference between this neighbourhood, and the one where Helen Maynard had lived up to a few months ago. "You coming?"

"Nah. I'll just wait out here."

"Ok. Stay out of trouble."

"Why don't you practice what you preach for a change?"

Hawke left Santini on the sidewalk outside the dentist's office, with a scowl, but once inside, he peeled off his mirrored shades, and walked toward the receptionist's desk with purposeful stride.

The middle aged woman behind the desk was dressed in a light weight grey business suit and crisp white blouse, her short mouse brown hair was freshly washed and neatly styled in a fashionable bob, and she peered at Hawke over the top of gold rimmed spectacles, as he stood before her and cleared his throat.

"Name?" she enquired politely, fingers poised over a computer keyboard, ready to type in his details.

"Stringfellow Hawke," he obliged her with the information, and watched in awe as her fingers flew over the keyboard with lightning speed.

Less than twenty seconds later she was peering back at him with a frown.

"Ah, sir, it appears that you do not have an appointment, Mr …. Hawke?"

"I know that," he sighed deeply.

"You don't even appear on our computer system. Are you wishing to register with us as a new patient?"

"No."

"Then …. I, er, I don't understand. How may I assist you, Sir?"

"I'd like to speak to someone about Helen Maynard."

"Oh."

Hawke noted the change in her expression immediately, but it was not the irritation or annoyance that he had been expecting. Her expression grew solemn and sorrowful for a moment, and then suddenly there was anger dancing in her grey eyes.

"Have you caught the bastard yet?" she asked through gritted teeth. "It's been more than four damned months, and nothing from you guys. I sometimes wonder why we pay taxes. To protect and serve my eye! Huh!"

Hawke listened to her grouching just long enough to ascertain that she was under the impression that he was a cop, and was wracking his brain, trying to find a way to use that to his advantage.

"That poor girl! It's criminal what happened to her, and you guys never once came by to find out if anyone had seen anything, knew anything."

"Wow lady, back up a little," Hawke stilled her by raising his hand slightly, and she stopped in mid flow, regarding him haughtily. "Slow down, ma'am, and start at the beginning," he advised gently.

"Wait a minute," the woman was frowning again and regarding him with open hostility and suspicion now. "You're not the police."

"I never said I was, ma'am."

"Then …. Then …." she stammered.

"A concerned friend," Hawke wondered where he was going to go with this, and just how good he was at thinking on his feet.

He suspected that the only way to get the woman on his side was to appeal to her better nature and arouse her sympathy.

_**Oh boy!**_

_**Here goes ….**_

_**The things we do for love, huh?**_

"I lost touch with Helen, when she moved out here, six months ago, and as I happened to be in town, on business, I thought I would look her up," he explained casually. "Only when I went to the address she gave me, the one over the bookstore, the guy downstairs told me that he hadn't seen Helen for several months. He also told me that someone had kindly been to pay any rent she owed and to collect her belongings."

"That was me. Dr Doyle asked if I would mind. I told him of course not."

"Where is she, ma'am?"

"Why should I tell you? I have no idea who you are," she began to protest.

"I told you already. A concerned friend."

"I don't recall Helen ever mentioning you, and, pardon my bluntness, with a name like _**that**_, I would certainly have remembered."

"Can you at least tell me what happened to her?"

"I don't know," She faltered, regarding him with a pained expression. "I don't know."

The woman looked genuinely torn, Hawke acknowledged silently to himself, realising that part of her wanted to protect her friend, not wanting to expose her to some unknown danger, and that the other part wanted to confide in him and share with him her concerns for her friend.

"Look, lady," he raised his eyebrow in enquiry and she let out a soft sigh.

"Martha."

"Look, Martha," Hawke also let out a deep sigh and pinned his most crestfallen, hangdog expression on his face, as he regarded her with steady, deep blue eyes.

"It's a long story," he began, feeling very uncomfortable under her suspicious grey gaze. "And I doubt very much that Helen would have mentioned me."

All true, so far as it went, Hawke thought to himself, crossing his fingers in front of him, grateful that with the desk between them, the woman named Martha could not see.

"You know how it is, Martha, Helen and I, we were just getting close, and then she upped and left to come here. Got a little upset because I couldn't just drop everything, and come with her. I had business commitments, that kind of thing, and I guess that maybe my lack of commitment hurt her more than I realised. Martha, I just wanna talk to her. Try to straighten things out with her," he paused for a moment and drew in a deep, shoulder raising breath, expelling it on a deep sigh a second or two later.

"I love her, Martha," he confided in a low voice, squeezing his crossed fingers together hard.

Not really a lie.

But, not altogether the truth either.

He had come to love an image.

_**No.**_

Love wasn't quite the right word.

He had become infatuated with an image.

An idea.

A woman in a dream, but, he had no idea how he would react when confronted with the real Helen Maynard.

"Help me out here," he appealed softly.

Martha's mouth worked, briefly, but no sound emerged and Hawke regarded her with soulful blue eyes.

"Martha, if she's in trouble, maybe I can help her?"

Suddenly her expression grew hard once more and Hawke's heart sank.

_**You blew it!.**_

"Maybe I would have an easier time believing _**that**_, Mr Hawke, _**if**_ you'd showed up here four, or even five months ago! Now, I think it is time that you left, or maybe I should just call the cops and have you removed?"

_**Damn!**_

He had really thought that he had her.

_**Must be losing my touch!**_

"Martha, I didn't come here looking for trouble," he told her frankly. "And I can understand how you feel. You want to protect Helen. Well, ok, fine. That makes you a good friend in my book. I can also understand if Helen is pissed with me. I was a dumb jerk, who didn't know what a wonderful thing he had, until she was gone," he let out another deep sigh and hung his head briefly.

Hawke didn't know where he was dredging this stuff up from, but it sounded pretty plausible to his ears.

"And maybe I let my pride, and my ego, get in the way of my coming after her sooner. But, Martha, I'm here now, and I'm worried about her. I've got this horrible feeling in my guts, that something bad has happened to her."

"You got that right!"

"Martha, please, put me out of my misery here!" he implored.

"I don't know."

"Is there someone else? Is that it? She found someone else out here? And you're worried I might wade in there, like the jealous old boyfriend and cause trouble? I promise you, Martha, that won't happen. Helen deserves happiness, and if I'm not the one she wants it from, then I will wish her well with her new guy."

The older woman hesitated and Hawke had an awful sinking in his stomach.

He was losing her again.

"Martha?"

"No. No, nothing like that," Martha told him, somewhat reluctantly.

"Then, if you're Helen's friend, if you know her well, you must also know that there probably isn't anyone else in the whole wide world who gives a damn about her. But _**I**_ do," Hawke reiterated.

"Helen has no family, Martha, she's an orphan, just like me. But, she doesn't have to be alone anymore. I _**can,**_ and _**will, **_be there for her now. So help me out, Martha."

"Well," he could see that she was beginning to soften toward him now.

Just a little.

"Please, Martha," Hawke implored in a low, sad voice. "I swear to you, I am not here to harm her. I care for her, very much. I …. I love her," Hawke faltered, just for a moment, surprised by just how easily the words tripped off his tongue, and just how sincere they sounded.

"And I came here to ask her to forgive me. I came here to ask her if we could start over. I came here to …. Well, I came here to ask her to marry me."

_**Oh boy!**_

However, Hawke could see from the twinkle in her eyes that Martha was buying his sincerity at last.

Struggling with her conscience, now, and her need to open up, to someone.

She really _**wanted**_ to believe him.

She just needed the right kind of encouragement.

"I …. I …."

"Please," he beseeched in a low voice, hoarse with emotion now.

"I don't know," hhe hesitated, uncertainty written all over her face.

"Martha, if you don't help me, I don't know where else to go, who else to ask, except you said something about the cops? Maybe they will be more willing to help me?"

"I doubt it. Next to useless. They don't seem to care about poor Helen."

"But_** I**_ do, Martha," Hawke reminded her. "And, I guess, so do _**you**_."

Martha nodded gently then and her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Let me buy you a cup of coffee, and you can tell me all about it," Hawke offered. "You won't get into trouble, I promise. I'll square it with Helen, but I think you need to talk to someone. Someone who will understand. Someone willing to share the burden. You've got me real scared now, Martha, thinking all kinds of horrible things about what has happened to my lovely Helen …."

"I get a break for lunch at twelve thirty," She finally caved in, tears streaming down her pale cheeks now. "I'll meet you at the diner down the block."

"Thank you. You won't regret it."

"Don't push your luck, sonny, because I think I already _**do**_," she told him sharply, brushing her tears away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Now get out of here, Mr Hawke."

"Ok. Martha. You're doing the right thing," she gave him a pointed look then and he added for good measure. "For Helen."

"I hope so, Mr Hawke, I sincerely hope so. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do," she became all businesslike now, and Hawke knew that he could not push her any further. At least not right now.

Maybe if she had time to think it over ….

Time to consider what he had said.

Time to ponder on what that might mean for Helen Maynard.

Suddenly Hawke had a flash of inspiration.

Sometimes, working for a covert government agency had its uses.

"Look, Martha, if you're still unsure, call this guy, he'll vouch for me," Hawke handed her a business card inscribed with the name Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, and an official looking logo embossed into it.

"He's my boss," he informed when she frowned at him over her spectacles. "Kind of. I'm a pilot, and I sometimes work for the government. He'll tell you I'm a stand up kind of guy Martha. He'll tell you that you can trust me."

Martha regarded the card suspiciously for several long seconds, then, took it grudgingly from between Hawke's fingers.

"Who _**are**_ you? _**Really**_?" she asked, grey eyes boring into him.

"Someone who _**really**_ cares, about Helen Maynard," he told her bluntly then. "Isn't that enough?"

And with that Hawke turned on his heel and walked out of the dentist's office, without looking back.

"Well?" Dominic Santini asked as he joined him on the sidewalk.

"Martha is going to join us for coffee at the diner down the block. She gets off for lunch at twelve thirty …."

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, telephone to his ear, frowned as he listened to the operator from the main switchboard, who was telling him about some woman, calling from Los Angeles, wanting to speak to him about Stringfellow Hawke.

"Who?"

"Martha Bassett."

"Did she say what it was about?"

"Well Sir, apparently Hawke gave her your card, and said that you would vouch for him."

"Then I guess I better had," Archangel sighed deeply, wondering what Hawke was getting himself into now.

"Mrs Bassett?" he responded to the soft melodic voice on the other end of the line. "Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, how may I assist you?"

He listened again, briefly, a smile beginning to tug at his moustachioed lips, and from the other side of the room, Marella raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Mr Hawke's methods might be a little, unorthodox, but I assure you, he is a good man. You can trust him, Mrs Bassett."

So, Hawke's search for Helen Maynard continued, and he was obviously on to something.

"Yes, he has worked for me. For the government, from time to time, and we have found him to be most trustworthy and reliable," Archangel wondered why he was having to give this woman a reference. It wasn't like Hawke was looking for a job ….

His smile grew wider.

He could well imagine the kind of hard time Mrs Bassett had given Hawke, if he had had to resort to pointing her in Archangel's direction for reassurance that he was on the level.

The smile on his lips grew wider.

It was a good thing he didn't tell her the truth.

That Mr Hawke was a thief and a liar and blackmailer ….

After all, he had stolen Airwolf, lied about where he was keeping her and demanded information on his brother's current whereabouts before he would give her back.

He was also a hero, but Archangel couldn't tell the woman that either.

"Do I know why he's there? Well," Archangel lowered his voice now, aware of Marella's presence on the other side of the room, and that she had no idea about what Hawke was up to.

"I believe that it is a personal matter, but, I am aware that he is searching for someone. A young lady, by the name of, Helen Maynard. Mrs Bassett, if you can help him, please do so. Maybe then he'll be able to concentrate on his work."

He paused for a moment, raising his eyes to find Marella staring at him with wide eyed curiosity.

"You'd be doing your country a huge favour," and with that he ended the call, grinning broadly as he wondered what the woman would make of that last comment.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Marella?"

"What was that all about? Is Hawke in trouble?"

"No, no. It was just something, personal."

"Oh …."

"Now, where were we?"

Hawke and Santini were on their fourth cup of coffee, and Hawke was glowering at the door in between glancing down at his watch, fingers drumming impatiently on the laminated table top.

It was twelve forty, and there was no sign of the woman called Martha.

After watching his young friend's impatience for another five minutes, Dominic Santini reached out with a large hand and stilled Hawke's drumming fingers.

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and noting the look on the other man's face, let out a deep sigh.

"She ain't comin'," was all Santini could utter.

"Guess not."

"Maybe there was an emergency?" Santini suggested, watching his young friend's expression brighten as something suddenly caught his eye.

"Then again, maybe she's just running late," Hawke smiled with relief as Santini followed his blue gaze to the street door, and to the woman pushing it open and entering the diner, looking a little flushed and flustered, as she sought them out and made her way over to the table, looking firstly at Dominic Santini, who smiled pleasantly up at her from his seat on the leather bench, and then pinning Hawke with a suspicious look, as he slid out of his seat to make way for her.

"Martha?"

"Bassett. Martha Bassett."

"Martha, this is Dominic Santini. A very good friend of mine," Hawke introduced the older man. "He's helping me, but if you'd rather just talk to me," he offered, knowing that Dominic would be disappointed, but he didn't want to scare the woman away.

"No, I guess its ok," Martha Bassett sighed softly and slid carefully onto the leather bench and then Hawke slipped back in beside her.

"Coffee, right?" Hawke lifted his hand to beckon the waitress over.

"Yes, thank you."

"You want something to eat with that?" Santini offered politely.

"No, thank you. I, er, I'd rather just get on with it, if you don't mind. Dr Doyle isn't very happy about this, said I shouldn't trust you, but, I guess there was just something about the way you spoke about Helen. But, I still decided to call that number you left with me, and your boss said some nice things about you."

Hawke hid his surprise well, and silently thanked Archangel.

"So tell us about Helen," he invited, trying not to seem too impatient, but needing to know.

He had been sitting there for almost an hour and a half, brooding on what she had said about the police somehow being involved, and his mind had conjured up some pretty vivid pictures of what could have happened to Helen Maynard.

"Look, Mr Hawke, I really have no idea what you're _**real**_ interest in Helen is, but the simple truth is, you do seem to be the only other person who cares for her, as much as I do, and even I haven't been that good a friend to her. My family, work commitments," she grew solemn then and at that moment the waitress arrived with her coffee, so Hawke had to wait until the girl had moved away from their table before he could prompt Martha to continue.

"Maybe you can do something after all. Maybe you can persuade the police to get off their asses and do something."

"Do something about what, Martha?" Santini asked gently then.

"Why don't you start from the beginning," Hawke prompted. "Take your time, but tell us everything."

"All right. Four and a half months ago, Helen Maynard was involved in an accident. She was mowed down, in the street, not far from the office. The driver of the car didn't even stop, just drove off, and apparently nobody saw anything of any help. Poor Helen, she's been in a coma in Northridge Hospital for the last four and a half months …."

"Ohmygod!" Hawke let out a deep sigh.

Was it possible that whilst he had been lying in the same hospital, unconscious, he had somehow been able to tap into Helen Maynard's thoughts?

Dreams?

"And the cops have done next to nothing to investigate who did this to her. They're no closer to finding the bastard," Martha Bassett paused briefly then, to draw in a long calming breath before continuing.

"Her physical injuries were not life threatening, a few broken bones that soon healed, but the coma, now that's a different matter entirely. In the beginning, they were quite hopeful, because there didn't seem to be any kind of brain damage, but as time has gone on. There was some talk of taking her off the ventilator and switching off all the machines, but when they did, much to everyone's surprise, Helen started breathing on her own. She's a real fighter, and I _**know**_ that she's not ready to die yet."

Tears welled up in Martha's grey eyes then and she hung her head briefly, reaching out to take a sip of her coffee, until she had composed herself once more.

Meanwhile Hawke and Santini looked at each other in awe and confusion.

"I think you're right, Martha," Hawke reached out then and gently took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I think the only thing on Helen's mind, is living," he told her with sincerity and such certainty, Martha Bassett could not help but believe him.

"Poor child. It breaks my heart to think of her lying there, spending so much of the time alone, but I couldn't go to visit her as often as I wanted to. I have a husband, kids, and several young grandchildren to consider, and, if I am honest, in the end, it was too upsetting for me, to just sit there, watching her sleep, not knowing how to reach her."

"You did the best that you could for your friend," this from Santini now.

"And she's not alone anymore," this from Hawke. "I don't know what we can do to find the driver, after all this time, but, if there's anything at all we can do to help Helen, rest assured, it will be done."

"You know something, Mr Hawke? For the first time, I am beginning to believe that you really _**do**_ care for her. Love her."

This comment drew a sharp look from Dominic Santini, but Stringfellow Hawke once again reached out and squeezed Martha Bassett's hand gently.

"Thank you, Martha. For trusting us."

"Just make sure you look after her."

"If she'll have me," Hawke smiled softly as Martha indicated that she wanted to get out from behind the table.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay longer. I have to get back to the office because the doctor has a surgical procedure at one o'clock, and his usual nurse had to leave early because her daughter is sick. Give Helen my love, when you see her."

"I will," Hawke promised and watched with a heavy heart as Martha Bassett walked out of the diner and back up the street toward Dr Doyle's office.

"What now?" Santini regarded his friend with curiosity.

"What do you think?"

"I think I just entered the Twilight Zone," Santini sighed deeply. "String?"

"I know Dom, I don't understand it either, but suddenly, things are beginning to make a little more sense."

"Ya think?"

"No. I made it up!"

"Clown," Santini grew serious then. "You ok, son?"

"Yeah."

"I know it's not exactly what you wanted to hear, String. I'm sorry."

"She's still alive, Dom, and there's still a chance that she might wake up. I did. In the dream."

"In the dream, yeah, but this is real life, String."

"I know that Dom, but maybe the dream is some kind of prophecy?" Hawke mused, rubbing absently at his chin with his index finger. "Maybe the dream is part reality, part Helen's dreams, and part prediction? Hell, what do I know?" he sighed deeply then. "Somehow her life and my life, her dreams and mine, got tangled up together, and the end result was that wonderful idyllic life I remembered when I woke up."

"Well then, I guess there's nothing else for it."

"No. I guess you're right."

"We have to go to the hospital."

"Right, we have to go to the hospital, but first, I want to call Archangel, see if he can't get the local cops to get up off their butts and investigate the accident that put her in the hospital."


	11. Chapter 11

"Well String, I guess you didn't expect to be back here quite so soon?" Dominic Santini quipped as he stopped the jeep in the parking lot of Northridge Medical Centre.

It had been a scant two weeks since Hawke had been discharged, after his little mishap and both men had believed that they had seen the last of this place.

At least, for a little while.

Stringfellow Hawke nodded in response to Santini's question.

"Look, String, do you really think they'll let you see her?"

"No."

"So what will you do?"

"Lie."

"Oh …."

"And if that doesn't work, I'll call Archangel and get him to pull some strings for me. Now that I know where she is, Dom, I can't just walk away and let it go."

"Of course not. You're Stringfellow Hawke," Santini sighed deeply.

"Even if it doesn't work out, she still needs a friend, Dom, someone in her corner, batting for her. I can do that much for her. Like you do, for me, whenever I'm in trouble. She's all alone in the world. If she needs someone to be an advocate for her, then I can do that. I got to know her pretty well in the dream," Hawke explained. "Besides, the doctor in the dream once told me, that he thought that people in comas could still hear. That someone talking to them could somehow reach them. They don't always remember it, when they wake up, but, if, there is a chance that she might hear me …."

"Yeah, well, I guess you're right. Want some company?"

"Thanks, but," Hawke's voice trailed away and he threw the older man an apologetic look.

"I know. Some things ya just gotta do alone," Santini reached out and squeezed Hawke's shoulder reassuringly.

"Thanks, Dom."

Hawke slipped out of the passenger seat and Santini watched him walk toward the hospital entrance, his heart in his mouth as he wondered what awaited his young friend inside.

He sincerely hoped that it wasn't yet more heartbreak and disappointment.

"What do you mean she's not here?" Hawke demanded of the woman manning the reception desk in the main lobby of Northridge Hospital. She was in her early twenties with a cute smile, as she eyed him with obvious interest, but, this was lost on Stringfellow Hawke.

"All I can tell you is that Miss Maynard is no longer a patient at this facility, Sir," the young woman with deep brown eyes and flame red hair told him politely.

"Then where is she?" Hawke demanded again.

"Are you a relative?"

This time the woman regarded him with an arched eyebrow, and he suspected that she already knew that Helen Maynard had no next of kin listed on her personal details, which were probably being displayed on a computer screen on the desk, where he could not see them.

"Not exactly," Hawke sighed deeply, tempted to lie and say that he was her husband or her brother or even her long lost cousin Fred from Wisconsin, but his conscience wouldn't let him.

"Then I am sorry, Sir, but I cannot give you any information. All patient records are confidential."

"Can't you at least tell me when she was discharged?"

"No, Sir. Sorry."

"Please? I've come a long way to find her."

"I am sorry, Sir."

"Dammit, this is crazy! Can you at least tell me if she's alive or dead!"

"Sir, if you don't calm down, I will have no choice but to call security, and have you removed from the premises."

"Ok, ok, I'm going," Hawke sighed deeply. "Just tell me one thing, will you, please?"

"I cannot give out a patient's personal details," she told him once again. "Hospital policy."

"I know that, but there's no hospital policy that says you can't tell me just how many facilities in California specifically cater for the needs of comatose patients, and where they are located, is there?"

"Oh, well, no. I can do that for you, Sir, certainly. Wait just a moment."

The young woman disappeared into a separate back office and returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper, a computer print out, which she handed to Hawke with a flourish and a wide smile.

"Thank you," he took it with an audible sigh of relief.

Hawke glanced down at the printed page, but he thought that he already knew what he would see there.

The list was short.

Two private hospitals up in Northern California, on the outskirts of San Francisco, one specialist clinic down South, near San Diego and one further in land, near to Mount Whitney.

Not too far from Lone Pine.

In a little town, in the foothills, called ….

Elkington.

Hawke drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly, the young woman behind the desk watching him with interest.

"Are you all right, Sir?"

"Yes. Thank you. Thanks for this."

"You're welcome, Sir."

Hawke turned around then and walked slowly back out to the parking lot.

"Well?" Santini asked, noting the somewhat shocked expression on his young friend's face as he climbed into the jeep. "You ok?" there was real concern in his voice now.

"Yeah," Hawke replied absently, distracted.

"So?"

"She's no longer a patient there."

"What?" Santini frowned, then, his expression grew shocked, as a terrible thought took hold in his mind. "Oh String …. No, she's not?" He could not bring himself to speak the word.

"She was discharged."

_**Thank God ….**_ Santini thought to himself silently.

"Discharged? To where?" He asked then. "Does that mean she's better?"

"They wouldn't tell me," Santini turned slightly in his seat then and gave Hawke a look that clearly said 'I told you so'. "It doesn't matter, Dom. I _**know**_ where she is."

"Huh?"

"She told me."

"String, did you fall and hit your head again?"

"No, Dom. And I didn't suddenly develop powers of clairvoyance. Helen told me, in the dream. She's in Elkington, California. I'd forgotten that Archangel checked it out, and told me that the place really existed, and that it does have a hospital that takes care of coma patients. After he left the cabin, I checked the maps. It's a pretty little place, not far from Lone Pine and Mount Whitney."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you were the one who taught me to read a map."

"Not about Elkington, dope," Santini sighed deeply, quickly losing his patience with Hawke. "I mean, are you sure she's there?" he clarified.

"I'm sure," Hawke confirmed with a fierce look of determination on his face now, and Santini knew that there was no point arguing with him.

It didn't matter _**how**_ Hawke knew.

He just did.

It was an undeniable certainty.

Those weird ' insights' of his had always proved reliable and Dominic Santini had long ago given up questioning them.

"And I guess wild horses wouldn't keep you from going up there?"

"No Dom, not wild horses, nor hurricanes nor volcanic eruptions. I have to go. I have to know."

"Yeah, I guess ya do. Good luck son. I figure you're gonna need it, but, if ya don't mind, I think I'll sit this one out."


	12. Chapter 12

Stringfellow Hawke sat in the driver's seat of the hire car he had driven from Los Angeles, and watched people coming and going. He had thought about borrowing one of Dom's choppers to make the trip to Elkington, but had decided that driving would give him a chance to get his thoughts into some semblance of order and his emotions under control.

The trip had taken him several days, and now that he was actually here, sitting in the parking lot of the Senator Benjamin Cantrell Memorial Hospital, all he could think was what the hell was he doing there?

He had arrived in Elkington late the previous evening, unable to believe just how familiar the place looked and felt, so much so, that he was able to find the street where Helen and Stringfellow Santini had lived and cruised right past the house, which looked exactly as he remembered it.

He had no idea how he knew how to find it, but he found it oddly comforting that it was real.

It somehow justified his journey and endorsed his belief that Helen Maynard was here in Elkington.

He holed up in a small motel on the outskirts of the town, but instead of getting the good night's rest he had hoped for, sleep had eluded him, his thoughts filled with memories of the dream, and Helen Maynard's lovely face.

Now that he was actually here, he somehow could not get his legs to work, and carry him the few yards to the reception area.

He couldn't get the notion out of his head that he was about to make a complete fool of himself.

Suddenly able to see with perfect clarity how ridiculous and irrational all of this would seem to her.

A stranger, turning up to tip her world upside down, with a tale that was just so, incredible, fantastic, unbelievable.

And that was _**if **_she was awake.

She would think him a madman.

He was sure of it.

And sitting here, watching the people coming and going, Hawke knew that she probably wouldn't be far wrong.

Maybe he was crazy.

Still, he had come a long way.

He needed to know.

He needed to draw a line under the whole business.

He needed a conclusion to it, so that he could move on.

Go on with living his life.

Not the dream existence of Stringfellow Santini.

And Hawke didn't know what he would do if Helen Maynard was still in a coma.

He hadn't thought that far ahead.

Sitting here, in silent contemplation, he again recalled what the dream doctor had told him about talking to comatose patients, that they might be able to hear and understand, on some deep subconscious level. Even if they didn't remember, when they finally woke up.

He could do that for Helen Maynard.

It was a small thing.

But, it might prove to be a trigger to her awakening.

Yes.

He could do that much for her, if nothing else.

Taking in a deep breath, at long last, Hawke summoned the courage he needed to get out of the car and walked purposefully into the hospital lobby, asking at the reception desk for Helen Maynard's room number.

This time he had had the forethought to have Archangel call ahead, to let them know that he was coming, not wanting to be tossed out of yet another hospital on his ear, before he had achieved his goal.

They were expecting him, the receptionist told him with a warm, friendly smile, and not only gave him Helen Maynard's room number, but directions on how to find his way to the second floor, and the Daisy Cantrell wing.

Hawke took the elevator and followed the receptionist's directions to the letter, finding a nurses station at the head of a long corridor and taking a deep, steadying breath, he approached and asked for Helen Maynard's room ….

Only to be told, much to his astonishment, and amazement, that Helen Maynard was outside in the hospital grounds, getting a little fresh air.

"She's awake?" he asked incredulously.

"She certainly is."

"How? When?" Hawke stammered and watched as the nurses smiled kindly and sympathetically at him.

"She's been awake for a week now. Getting stronger every day," the head nurse on the floor informed him brightly. "We'll be sorry to see her leave, but glad too. It's a miracle, but she seems to have come through the ordeal without any permanent damage. It won't be long before she's ready to go home. She's out there, in the sunshine. I'll get one of the girl's to show you the way."

"Thank you."

In a kind of daze, Stringfellow Hawke walked in silence beside a kindly young woman whom the floor nurse on the Daisy Cantrell wing had recruited to take him out to where Helen Maynard was sitting, on a bench in the beautiful mid morning sunshine, and thanked her politely as she pointed Helen out and grinning knowingly, left him standing in the doorway.

Now that the moment of truth was upon him, Hawke could feel his palms sweating and his mouth had gone dry.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her.

Suddenly it didn't matter.

He just wanted to see her again.

See that beautiful, radiant smile lighting up her face …. For him.

See those beautiful green eyes twinkling with life and love and amusement.

He didn't care what she thought of him.

He wanted to see her.

One last time.

If only to say a silent goodbye, and thank her for the insight that he had gained in being her husband, and father to those wonderful children.

If only in a dream.

Perhaps that would be all the closure he needed.

To allow him to move on.

To whatever the future might hold for him.

Hawke drew in a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he wiped his sweaty palms down his pants legs, before setting off in the direction the young nurse had pointed out to him.

It did not take him long to locate Helen Maynard.

And when he did, his heart came up into his mouth and his breath caught in his throat.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

She was lovely.

A petite brunette, slender and fine boned, her long, straight hair neatly styled in a French braid, which fell just between her shoulder blades, as, he now recalled, it had been in the hours following the birth of baby Constance, and wearing a hospital issue gown, with a fluffy white towelling robe over the top and fluffy slippers on her small feet.

A lump suddenly rose in Hawke's throat and he had to swallow, hard, to move it.

Vividly recalling the intimacy of the moment when he had witnessed the birth of their daughter, Connie ….

Their daughter, in the dream.

The heat of remembered embarrassment, blooming on his cheeks now, even as his heart soared with remembered joy and his arms recalled the warmth of the small, wriggling bundle that Mrs Randall, their elderly neighbour and midwife, had placed there just minutes after her birth.

Would Helen remember?

If so, just how much would she be able recall?

Like himself, would she remember all of it?

And how it felt too?

Helen Maynard was sitting with her legs crossed demurely at the ankles, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun.

She looked so relaxed.

So peaceful.

For a moment, Hawke wondered if she was napping.

But, as he drew closer, almost as if alerted by some sixth sense, because Hawke knew that she could not possibly have heard him approaching, Helen Maynard lowered her head, raised her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sunlight streaming through the nearby trees, and looked right at him.

Hawke stopped dead in his tracks a few yard away from the bench.

Her reaction amazed him.

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth opening to form a perfect oh …. And then, she was smiling at him.

Heartened by the warmth he saw in her eyes, Hawke moved slowly toward her, approaching her cautiously, not wanting to scare her, then, came to a stop before her, taking in the tears sparkling in her beautiful green eyes as she gazed up at him …. And the unmistakeable look on her face.

Recognition.

"String?" she spoke first, her voice nothing more than a whisper, as she regarded him with awe.

"Hello, Helen," he greeted her in a hoarse voice, and as he spoke, Helen Maynard reached up toward him with her right hand, fingers shaking slightly, as she lightly traced the outline of his jaw with her fingertips, without actually touching him.

"Ohmygod …." she gasped. "You're real …."

"Yeah, I'm real," Hawke smiled gently. "You, too."

"Me, too," she blinked away fresh tears, which rolled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin, and forgetting himself, Hawke reached out with fingers that were also shaking and carefully brushed her tears away.

"I thought I dreamed you," she said in a low voice, hot colour rushing into her cheeks now, as she captured his hand in her own briefly.

"I thought _**I **_dreamed _**you**_," he smiled back at her, thinking that she was probably the most beautiful sight that he had ever beheld, blush and all. "It was a very beautiful dream, Helen. Thank you. I can't believe I found you …."

"I can't believe that you actually came looking for me," she blinked her tears away and they rolled slowly down her soft, pale cheeks.

"Are you kidding?" Hawke stammered. "Until I found out that you were real, I thought that I was going crazy!"

"Me, too. Nobody would believe me when I told them about my husband. Just a dream, they said. But, there you stand, real as thunder," her voice trailed away. "You are, real, I mean? You're not a hallucination?"

"No Helen. I'm real," he assured, reaching out to take her hand as he squatted down before her, his eyes now on a level with hers, so that she would not have the sun in her eyes when she looked at him.

"You certainly _**feel**_ real," she squeezed his hand gently then, and automatically her thumb began to draw lazy circles in his palm. This drew a smile from him. "So, I'm not crazy then," she let out a soft sigh of relief and Hawke found himself smiling back at her.

"No more crazy than I am."

"How?" she stammered, letting go of his hand now, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic forwardness, and wide eyed, a confused expression on her lovely face.

"I don't know," Hawke told her honestly, watching several different emotions cross her lovely face one after the other in quick succession. "Helen, what do you remember, exactly?" he asked her tentatively.

"Everything," she gasped. "Oh my, yes. _**Everything.**_ You. The children. Papa Dominic. Baby Constance," her eyes grew wide then, with horror and more heat and colour suffused her cheeks. "String?"

"Yeah," he lowered his head briefly in embarrassment too.

"Oh, gee," she was suddenly grinning at him, a wonderful, open, genuine grin. "What a ride!"

"Uh huh," Hawke agreed coyly, uncomfortable that she found his discomfort amusing, but knowing that she was equally as embarrassed.

"Were you in a coma too?" she asked now, her curiosity obviously overcoming her previous embarrassment.

"No. Helen, may I sit down?"

"Sure."

"I wasn't in a coma, Helen," Hawke explained once he had sat down beside her, leaving a large gap between them, so as not to intimidate her or cause her any anxiety with his proximity.

"But, I was in the same hospital as you. At the same time as you. I got a crack on the head, a silly accident at work, but, it put me out of commission for a couple of days, and when I woke up …. Well, I guess you know how I felt when I woke up?"

"Lost. Confused. Disorientated. Alone. Adrift. Emptiness. Loss. Grief."

"Yeah."

"It was _**so **_real."

"Yes."

"And so _**good …**_."

"Yeah," he agreed with a deep sigh.

"I was never so happy. I never knew it could be like that, between two people. We shared so much, and it felt so good. So beautiful. I didn't want it to end," she confessed on a ragged breath, dropping her gaze so that he could not see her beautiful, expressive eyes.

"Me neither," Hawke reached out tentatively and gently raised her chin with his index finger so that he could look into her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really," he kept his voice low and his gaze steady, willing her to see his true feelings for her.

"And now?"

"I don't know," his voice was almost a whisper.

"Me neither," she let out a soft sigh then and wiped another crop of tears from her cheek. "It's so weird. It's like I _**know**_ you. Like I've known you all my life, but, the rational part of me knows that it's not so."

"I know how that feels."

"I know it wasn't real, but …."

"But you can't forget it. You can't get it out of your head. You can't let go."

"No."

"Helen?"

"String? Do you think?" her voice trailed away then, and she once again dropped her eyes so that he could not see the turmoil of emotion behind those fathomless sea green irises.

"_**Do you**_?" he asked, his heart skipping a beat as his question drew her gaze back up to his face, and at last he could see hope beginning to dawn in those magnificent eyes.

Suddenly all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and pull her close, claim those wonderfully warm and soft lips he remembered so well, with his own, and, miraculously, he could see his need reflected back at him in those lovely green eyes.

"_**Could we**_?" she asked in a voice so soft and low, he wasn't sure he had heard her for a moment. "_**Should**_ we?"

"What do we have to lose, Helen? I don't know about you, but what I have right now isn't so great."

"I know."

"So why not? Why not take a chance? Don't we both deserve a little happiness? I don't want to spend the rest of my life thinking what if, if only, regretting a lost opportunity. A real chance to have all the things I haven't even allowed myself to dream of, until now, when I already know in my heart that if we just give it a chance, it could be so wonderful, because, I've _**been **_there I've _**seen**_ it. _**Felt it.**_ _**Lived it.**_"

"Me, too."

"So why not?"

"Mmmm, why not?" she murmured, seeming to be mesmerized by his face, her gaze never wavering from his beautiful blue eyes.

"I'm willing to give it a try, if you are?" Hawke spoke in a low, hoarse voice and watched the light of hope deepen in her beautiful, tempestuous green eyes.

"Oh, yes. Yes! More than anything," she whispered back. "But, no expectations. No pressures. We take each day as it comes and see where it leads."

Suddenly they were both grinning, both of them having the uncanny feeling that they had had this same conversation before ….

And then her arms were suddenly twining around Hawke, drawing him closer, until at last, his wish was granted, and their lips met in a soft, sweet, passionate kiss that robbed them both of breath and left them both weak kneed and grinning like idiots when they parted at last.

"Wow! Deja vous," Helen chuckled gently, and Hawke could not help thinking that it was a wonderful sound.

"Yeah. Deja vous," he agreed. "I guess we've done _**that **_before."

"But, only in our dreams."

"Wanna do it again?" he threw her a lopsided grin then, and she laughed softly at the outrageously soppy expression on his face.

"You have to ask?"

"If there's one thing Dominic Santini taught me, it was to be a gentleman," Hawke chuckled.

"Papa Dominic? Is he real too?" Helen could not hide her surprise.

"Yeah. He's real, and I know he can't wait to meet you," Hawke found himself reaching out to brush a stray wisp of her lovely hair away from her cheek and she smiled softly at him and captured his hand, bringing it to her lips so that she could press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

"You don't mind?" she looked up into his eyes again then, her expression uncertain.

"Of course not. It's quite normal, even for people who aren't married," he grinned boyishly.

"Mmmm. What was I saying? Oh yes ….. Papa Dominic, I'd like to meet him too, but, first, I think you'd better tell me the parts of the dream that are real."

"Where to start?" Hawke sighed expressively and Helen found herself grinning at him again.

"I usually find the beginning is a good place," she chuckled.

"Would you like me to start with Once Upon a Time?"

"Only if you want me to come over there and sit on your lap," she teased him gently and then stopped suddenly, regarding him with a shocked expression. "Oh boy!" she gasped. "We're doing it again," she pointed out, and Hawke realised that she was right.

They had had this conversation before too, practically word for word, only _**he**_ had been the one to tease _**her**_.

And then suddenly, she was laughing happily, and he could not stop himself from grinning back at her.

"Is your name really Stringfellow Hawke?" she asked somewhat sheepishly then.

"Yeah," he sighed deeply. "I know, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

"It's a perfect name. It's unique. Just like you," she leaned forward, a little shyly and brushed her lips briefly against his, and when she drew away again she was blushing furiously.

"Don't stop …. I like it. I could get used to it," he told her honestly.

"Me too."

"Helen?" he grew serious then but Helen Maynard was not going to allow him to spoil the mood.

"Sh …." she raised her index finger to his lips to silence him. "What happened to, no expectations? No pressures? To taking each day as it comes?" she reminded him. "Don't analyse it, String. Just accept it and enjoy it. This is something bigger than either of us, something that we can't control. Destiny. Fate. Karma. A miracle …. Whatever you want to call it, and we're both just along for the ride. So, sit back and enjoy it."

It was good advice, Hawke knew.

And he was beginning to believe in good fortune …. And miracles.

Smiling softly he reached out and drew Helen Maynard close into his body, slipping his arm gently around her shoulder and cradling her against him, looked down into her happy, smiling face and although he had no idea how, or why, Stringfellow Hawke knew that he had never felt so happy or so peaceful or contented in his life before, as a feeling of completeness and homecoming and belonging settled over him.

He had no idea what the future might hold for them.

But, he was sure of one thing.

He was going to savour it, and make the most of every precious moment, just in case it turned out that he was dreaming again.


End file.
